Coushander
by Kariko Emma
Summary: ジライヤ と サクモ; their beginning, their middle, and Jiraiya's denouement. Coushander: that which means something brave. Something that endures.
1. Welcome Home, Jiraiya

**Quick Author's Note: **I will not offer commentary until after the story. So, 'till then…please enjoy! (I will say though this story is completely separate and different from my other works, and, for anyone interested in timelines—after grueling addition and subtraction, and numerous consultations to reputable Naruto fan sites, I am positive of the ages presented in here—the only one I could freely play with being Sakumo's.)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto (sob), but, I _do_ own my OC's. So…**YAY**.  
**Genre:** General

**Thank you**…L.M. Montgomery, for helping me with the big words. And to J. C. for perseverance and resignation. And G. K. C., for the laughs.

**Dedication:** To my sister, with our understanding of patience, radio, and little notes under the door; with love.

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Courage is the fulcrum that moves history.

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_**Coushander**_

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_**コウシャンデル**_

Chapter 1  
_**Welcome Home, Jiraiya**_

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When he was ten years old, Sakumo whipped his head back around because he thought he'd seen red tears on either side of the child's eyes. He proceeded stealthily again, Sakumo's ears pricked like a cat's to traces of foreign caution. His alertness was nearly unnecessary since the room held as much unyielding silence as a funeral procession. And as he stood next to the crib, he was just tall enough to see it—_him_. They weren't tears; it wasn't blood, and it was damn strange. On each side, right below the eye, harbored a small, tri-cornered red mark. Whether it was natural or not, Sakumo didn't know.

After all, he'd never seen a baby before.

He looked around and leaned closer. His double-look was fleeting as his dark eyes returned to a pensive state, doling familiar curiosity. "My name is Sakumo," he said quietly. He saw the empty name-tag around the child's wrist and frowned. "I guess otoussan didn't give you a name," he murmured. "…Or your _okaasan_…" It was then Sakumo remembered hearing something about a legendary ninja a few months back. He didn't know how reputable the story was, or even the name of the man who mentioned it. But considering the ani wasn't about to let his otouto go without a fight, it only seemed natural (and devious) to do it.

When measured, adult footsteps were heard walking down the outside hall, Sakumo scrambled out so fast, it was another small wonder he had the stability not to trip out into the opposite hall.

By the time he hit the gravel, he was dodging raindrops.

She loved the children. She loved watching them grow up, into their quirks and roles, and wait for the new ones still to come. Every one she saw, she had a sense of their own unique presence; quiet, demure, loud, obnoxious, introvert, extrovert; and down the line she greeted them until she came to the one with the white hair. "Hello," she smiled. "Hello _Jiraiya_."

And somehow she just knew that one was trouble.

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The young silver-haired older brother took refuge under the wooden roof of a shrine, and decided he'd wait it out until either the rain ceased, or his shift started in the morning, whichever came first. He sat there, thinking about all the delicate relationships that were changed just during a twenty-four hour period. _An older brother, would you think of that?!_ It suddenly dawned on him like the distant sun beyond the hazy blue-grey, that he forgot to mention it only got harder from there on out; the first piece of advice he could think of. Sorely, he imagined the platitude would not be needed once the trial and error began. _Who would be there to help him? To guide him?_ Certainly not otoussan. _And maybe not your okaasan, either, _Sakumothought.

_Wouldn't it have been great…_he thought idly, his eyes traipsing the long stretch of green shadows of the forest and path. _To stay like that…?_ The boy found himself drifting back into an easy silence…_One with the background hum of a working civilization, bestarred with the conquests and queries he was engaged in every day…alone in the precious solitude of thought in that forgiving, lazy abyss…_

Sakumo was snapped from his reverie when from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving far off on his left. When he dark eyes adjusted on the position, he realized with a special phrase his squad leader made frequent use of: _"Oh shit!"_

He ducked his head down as if he'd seen a ghost, and hoped the eldest Hatake kept on walking.

_Welcome home, Jiraiya…_he thought tartly. _Welcome home…_

The rain ceased by the time Sakumo's courage propelled him to check and see if the man had gone.

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	2. Welcome Home Sakumo

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 2  
_**Welcome Home Sakumo**_

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The young man Sarutobi ran his fingers through his thick, disheveled brown hair, his poise an obvious uncertainty, one wholly uncharacteristic for someone otherwise so confident.

"Excuse me, sir," He spun around upon the greeting. "But are you lost?"

"Oh! No," he answered readily. "I was…just wondering…if you'd seen _Hatake_ around."

"The eldest?"

"The youngest," he smiled awkwardly.

"Oh! No, he has been taken home now," she answered. "Little _Jiraiya_."

"…Jiraiya?" he rejoined incredulously, pondering the name with curious interest. "…Did he really pick that name?"

She smiled. "Well, there's a funny thing about that…The tag read it in _kana_, but some time after he came in, it was in _kanji_. I suppose in essence it's still the same."

"Really…" he murmured pensively. _Coushander, what are you playing at… _And quite suddenly, he awoke from the analytical reverie. "So, you've seen the child?"

"Oh yes—brilliant white hair; just like his father. I think he'll be quite something," she added precociously. "And I think…he may perhaps rival his first child someday."

"_Sakumo_…" he interjected.

She smiled. "So, I see he has _you_ saying it as well."

He blinked, and then grinned. "…I think they have that natural effect on people. Might be from that hair of theirs…" he mused. "Well, I'm sorry to take up your time; thank you."

"Tondemondai," she smiled, inclining her head.

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Sakumo remembered stealing glances about fifteen minutes out the door on a weekly basis. His obstructions ranged anywhere from tripping over stones, to delays from his missions to, his personal favorite, evading the eldest who, predictably, would unconsciously get in his way, talking incessantly with one of his rural enemies. It usually consisted of some kind of bemused, moral slant of a stare the elder wore in addition to an indigo mask, further infuriating the poor guy who'd saunter off, suffering an unusually massive blow to his ego. Sakumo never really caught word of the conversation, mainly because he'd heard it nearly all his life. It was the same old thing by a backwards-thinking man he did not wish to associate with anyway.

The feeling was mutual.

And, well, how was Sakumo to know it'd be so much trouble to see his otouto?

The simple kana had changed to kanji. Sakumo was not indifferent to it; he knew their otoussan had a literal hand in that, and nor could he hope to change it. After all, it was still _Jiraiya_. As in not _Hatake_ Jiraiya, or, "The Glorious Second Son of…", or even, "The Supreme Inheritor of All Things Hatake, Barring a Third Child…"; it was still Jiraiya. The _Legendary_, if anything.

And Sakumo was unabashedly proud to have been an instrument in such unrivaled glory.

He was in high spirits until he found Jiraiya had been taken away. Stripped of the hospital's protective shroud, he was forced to look elsewhere. And being disassociated, it was harder than he thought. He did not know Jiraiya's okaasan, and Sakumo could not very well ask his own from beyond the grave, so, he was left to do the one thing he loathed.

Spy on their otoussan.

Sakumo's squad leader preferred the word _infiltrate_,because "It sounds better." The young shinobi was not one to refute that, because he thought so too. And from a flippant piece the eldest dropped in a conversation one morning, Sakumo was shocked to conclude Jiraiya was 'back home'. But there was only one man manning that house nowadays, and it wasn't Sakumo. And even Sakumo would doubt the eldest was much of a man, so, for all intents and purposes, Jiraiya came home! _God save you._

He had to think it wasn't permanent. The eldest couldn't keep a son long, let alone another one. So, stealthily that afternoon, when the eldest was out, Sakumo came home by way of the fields, sneaking low and silently, with just a slight rustling of the tall wheat from himself and the breeze. So, you can imagine his surprise when something picked him up by the collar like a claw. "Hello," the low voice greeted.

Sakumo dropped on his knees and when he turned around, his first instinct was to run until he came to a very tall cliff, and jump off into oblivion. But seeing's how the tall mountains of Iwa were more than five days away, he knew it wasn't exactly practical. Shakily, he came up to stand; his only contrition was for getting caught. _Kuso! What the heck did you do, Sakumo?!_ He tried keeping calm as he suffered the intent stare of the eldest's dark eyes. _He's got the scythe…that is so not good..!_

"My dear _Sakumotsu_," he said, taking interest in the wince that formed on the last syllable. The boy had spent so much time insisting he was "Sakumo," so it should have been no surprise to the eldest Hatake the boy would grow deaf ears to most other civility between them. Yet, the eldest smiled at the action and the predicament. "…Whatever are you doing?"

The boy's body became rigid and stiff like the shaft of the scythe the eldest was leaning on; only through shards of the long wheat revealed the glint of the curved blade, like a hidden moon beneath the sun. It took every bit of Sakumo's self-restraint not to look into that inviting secrecy. He swallowed. "…I was practicing chidori," he lied.

"_Chi_-dori?" the man repeated. "…Is that some kind of…shinobi blood oath?"

"No sir…It is a highly localized concentration of chakra, mainly centralized in the hand."

"Hm," which was his noncommittal stance in regard to the shamefully incomprehensible, where he also inclined his head slightly, as neither approving nor disapproving. _Got me on that one, kid… _

Coushander stuck to facts. "So, why are you in _my_ field?"

"Well…" Sakumo mentally stumbled after his rather impressive run. "I was training so hard I…became…_delirious,_ and came in here by accident."

The eldest was amused, and let slip a crooked smile. "My fields are well defined." he stated.

"…Yes sir," Sakumo admitted. There was a level of calmness that unnerved him; Coushander's patience was infamous. Sakumo did not know exactly when he reached the point of hovering, but he knew now he had to exert more precious self-control to hold himself together, nothing short of daunting in the face of an unmovable mountain. _What a stupid thing to do,_ he internally kicked himself again. _A shinobi must be invincible! And…_impervious_ to all forms of parental intimidation! …What would Legendary Jiraiya say…?_  
Suddenly, the eldest slid the scythe dead center before him. Sakumo's knees jerked and he instantly reaffirmed his footing, anxious eyes darting between both objects—the taller of which having a smile as he extended the shaft towards the boy.

"Let this be your reparation," he said.

Sakumo repined as his mind moaned and his shoulders fell submissively in defeat. Glumly, he took the splintered wood and mentally cursed with a special word his squad leader made frequent use of: _Bastard._ The boy pouted underneath his indigo. _Out-smarted again, Sakumo…So. What do you have to say for yourself…?_

"…Yes sir," Sakumo submitted, a glare his eyes gave to the shining edge of the blade.

And for a little while, the strange man had his strange son back.

And all Sakumo could think about was little Jiraiya, somewhere in that house today, somewhere.

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	3. Heart of the House

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 3  
_**Heart of the House**_

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There were those days slow enough to capture a youth's movement, and allow him infinite time to foster the raw ideas behind the ideals while the bright sun boiled the clouds away from the sky unforgivingly. Where the trees gave rest and shade, growing from the smallest cracks amidst all of Konoha, all accounted for and numbered by the presence of sundry initials, marking all those past and present. Where a few towering trees encircled a pride of lions and their sahara in the wheat fields.

Where any trace of beauty was left for a girl to admit, and since there was none, a young boy did feel obligated to give it some small credit of endurance under willful ignorance.

There were those days his prejudice told him all he needed to know.

_Coushander—what are you playing at?_

The thought came from the composure of the unsteady man, drumming his foot on the pavement, keeping time as if somewhere a band was playing. His arms were folded and his brow departed to different locations. "Do not play games with me, Coushander. I am getting _far_ too old for this."

"…Really?" he remarked in frivolous surprise, taking interest in the man's impatience. "Perhaps it's merely the morning that makes you so _cranky_…" he added as an afterthought. The eldest skimmed over the pages with numbers and decimals.

"_Perhaps,"_ said the man affectedly. "It's the _man_ I _meet_ every morning."

He looked up. "…And who would that be?"

The man rolled his eyes and threw his hands in frustration. "I am asking you one last time," he graciously offered. "Why are you not selling?"

He flipped over a page. "It's not ready yet."

Incredulously, he blinked his brown eyes back at a crazy man. "That makes _no_ sense what-so-ever—" he was declaring.

"Kosaka," came Coushander. "Have you ever considered the _scythe_?"

He blinked again. "What do you mean?"

At which point the eldest smiled broadly under a cloud of indigo, inwardly deeming it pointless, and the only outward showing came from the solidity in his turn to walk away calmly with that statement, keeping that curious, symbolic knowledge to himself.

_Typical_, thought both the man and Sakumo. Idly, the young boy took his hands off the branch to fold them in absolution. He was about to ponder what his squad leader might say when all of a sudden his back tipped too far behind in an abrupt tug of gravity and he was falling.

"Aah!" uttered Kosaka in futility. "They just keep coming!"

Blushing furtively, the boy regained poise and walked off, almost in the same way as his father…only with a slight stomp of his feet.

_Their_ father.

The Legendary Jiraiya was missing again.

Since Sakumo's own level of stealth was hit or miss, Jiraiya was actively living up to his legends…Very young, but very wise, that one. It'd taken Sakumo eight years of built-up courage to deflect that wall of single minded-ness, and here it'd only taken Jiraiya eight _days_. Maybe Sakumo should have been born with strange marks on his face, he didn't quite know. But Sakumo's original assessment had held true, and whether or not the eldest would have any final authority over the prodigy remained yet to be seen—or rather, discovered. Because after all, Sakumo could never guess at what game the eldest was playing.

The man himself was exactly six foot, both respectable and unassuming in such presence of anyone happening to note. His fixed from under stare was unchanging and dark, not of conscience, but of color. But like something left out in the sun, those black eyes had bleached to a darker warm grey, retaining only the hardness and weary spirit in careful measure. Frequently, that look came from unruly, silver hair giving way to white whenever he stepped outside. And since that was often, Sakumo was content to consider his genes a total oddity to which he could not explain, and Coushander could never tell.

Sakumo knew the darker black eyes—that were much like his own, from a few photographs and certain looks he remembered mother would give him and his father. What he did not remember was the slight strain in the eldest's movements nowadays. He had never favored his left side for whatever reason possessed him; his left hand had a weak hold, and his countenance had grown a little weaker still. It was perfectly subtle, and it was perfectly strange in that the young boy did not know how to describe it. While the other adults, say Kosaka, dashed off to their appointments briskly like birds, here was the eldest, left behind, adhering to an idle pace with a limp of conscience.

Coushander was always distracted.

Even when he didn't mean to be, he'd be looking to one side, the grey eyes perhaps stumbling upon something that wasn't there. It was complete futility talking to him. He either matched you intellectually, or he ignored you. Or both. Coushander did not set himself up for any kind of failure, no matter what he did. His work ethic was too great to bear such a loss.

There may have been days where he possessed the spirit of youth, but Sakumo could not stand time to fathom it.

.

"Jiraiya…" he sounded unceremoniously. "You are amazing."

The simple fact would have held more had it not been said in solitaire to a grove a trees who were no more supporters than they were listeners. The boy came here to be alone, which was basically what he got.

Almost another week had passed, and all Sakumo possessed was a dispirited conscience and several new questions raised from his shinobi peers back at the complex as to why a ten year old needed to stay out so late. Sakumo would not have the answer for as long as Coushander chose to withhold it. Jiraiya might have already been proven to beat him at stealth, but Sakumo could not give up on him. A steady mind of youthful perseverance was merely distracted by the first blow, and actually encouraged by the next. It was only one man—six foot; the head of backward thinking, and a hazy spirit that clouded his day.

The eldest Hatake was no idol.

It was a simple truth he was a _nojojin_ underneath all that indigo facade, whose innate, unbending work ethic was told just by his hands, a map of that very field written among blisters, scars, and lines as guides. It was the eldest Hatake's only duty, and he was dammed if his son had chosen different.

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	4. Ye'll Take the High Road

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 4  
_**Ye'll Take the High Road**_

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"Goddamn that man!" snapped a decently maddened man in somewhere in his fifties. Everyone called him Gosen-sama, as he was the ruling lord of an eastern province in Konoha. Naturally ill-tempered, his face had grown accustomed to the wonderful lighter shades of puce, and all the deeper purples.

Stout Kosaka was the pale contrast, and was quick to try and mend the frayed nerves. "Ah, w-well, he did tell me himself, Gosen-sama, that his fields...were…not yet ripe."

The man scoffed. "Just last week you were bragging _all_ the fields of Konohagakure were glittering like gold! Do not trifle with me, I want to see this man! Where is he?!"

Kosaka's eyes darted frantically around the group of men, knowing full well none of them had a clue in the surrounding hell as to where the elusive Hatake was.

"Well?!" Gosen moved the table with his fist with a curt bang that vibrated the floor under the men's feet. Kosaka was first to rebound than the others, but a word of apology never came from his mouth when the door suddenly opened behind them, and in came the compacted madness himself, ready for his own apologetic comment. "Oh…" he mused. "Sorry I'm late."

"You there!" cried Gosen immediately as his formal accusation. "Hatake Coushander!" he announced. "You are _mad!"_

The man mentioned looked up to the ceiling in momentary confusion. Nonchalantly, he gazed back and clarified, taking him at his every word. "I do not harbor grudges, Gosen," he said slowly. "So I do forgive you if you have offended me."

The lord's sharp intake of breath volumed more than all the group combined. After which, the perturbed Kosaka shook his head as a subtle warning to the most stubborn man in all of Konoha.

Coushander didn't seem to mind that, either, much to Kosaka's grief.

"Hatake!" yelped the lord. "Do you realize just _who_ you are talking _to?!"_

Expectantly, all eyes were on him.

Discretely, Kosaka nodded his head up and down in a last ditch effort for a correct answer.

"Of course," he answered. "How are things in the east these days?" Coushander asked in constriction, much like an old nice-ness between mortal enemies. There was no anger behind it, only a slight narrow of his eyes in clear focus of the empurpled lord.

Snuffed, Gosen inflated his passion and royal indigence to extremes like a birthright. "Why no doubt you've heard! My village has suffered the skirmishes to the north of us, and drought to the south! The fine men here have pledged their fields to me—where have _you_ been, Hatake? Do you have no respect or compassion for your brothers?"

"Indeed you are _mistaken_…" he muttered in curt civility. "Might I remind you, Gosen," the Hatake locked his eyes on the lord's unflinchingly. "That you are speaking to a private citizen. I have the full independence to choose to sell to whomever, or not at all. And I can inform you and this forum that I have chosen the latter."

Met with not only silent gasps and unheard whispers, the feudal lord offered his opposition openly and loudly with another bang of his fist. "This is not to be born! How dare you—you who flaunt your arrogance, you _fowl_ man!"

Indifferently, Coushander returned in a cool contrast, "It seems here with all this support, you shall have no trouble," he said. "I doubt as to why you're fretting over one man," he added humorously, amused by the look of anguish across Kosaka's face.

Stuttering, Gosen broke in phrases of, "Arrogance, pure arrogance!" and incoherence in his numbers, decimals, and accusations where he bolstered a newfound wavering support among his closest men.

"Well if you'll excuse me," Coushander politely got in before he left.

"A-arrogance, _pure…!"_

Kosaka slipped away from the wild bedlam when the enraged lord wasn't looking, or probably even caring, in search of the mad man who started it. A crazy daring like that left his trail finding his way home, where Kosaka converged upon him and wasted no time in asking, "What the _hell_ have you done?!"

"…Hm?" the Hatake returned. "I had a conversation."

Kosaka guffawed in the horror. "You sure as hell _did_, and you picked the _wrong_ man to have it with!"

"Honestly, what could he do?" Coushander asked. "Nothing," he answered for himself.

"_Nothing?!"_ Kosaka repeated incredulously. "Well don't come asking me for secret service when an _Uchiha_ knocks on your door."

"Tch," he muttered. "Like I'm afraid of an Uchiha."

The man stared. The dumb look was founded by a twisted image depicting a Goliath conquer David in a gruesome, quick display. "I'm sorry," the man rebooted his mind. "_Are_ you _crazy?"_

"No," the silver-haired man said quite forcefully, formed from some old memory his grayed eyes suddenly remembered. "I am a lunatic."

"Aah…ah," nodded Kosaka, at perhaps the most sensibly said thing all night. "Yes, there we have it," he nodded again.

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There was a small surprise party that night planned for Sakumo's squad leader, Morino Dalzen, who was turning fifty years old; a date that curiously coincided with the final day of the meeting between the local nojojin. Morino Dalzen, even after fifty years, did not like surprises. And though he was a naturally good-tempered, amiable man, the curse words he injected into everyday life gave undeniable proof of a man that had spent far too many days on the battlefield. So of course, when exclaimed loudly, _"Oh shit!"_ he really meant, _"Oh—wow!" _He laughed in disbelief when he walked in the lively scene of the well-lit, grand odenya, seeing so many familiar faces.

The gathering drew out all those comrades from battles past who didn't have beyond the village to travel. For one man, it was quite a few. And Dalzen humbly argued with each and every one of them, they came to have a good time with the bottle, and he could not blame them. The Morino's long and dark parted bangs shadowed his face, displaying it worn, but never weary. And according to age, he teased with those younger; perfectly black eyes never stopped probing.

That odenya was where they ambushed him, and it quickly proved to be on the small side. A man named Ichida Takato had barely enough room to squeeze in, though he himself was a pencil compared to the rest of them. He was completely unafraid to jab arms with them, which was amusing since he was the shortest man there. Sandy-color hair and four years shy of the half-century mark himself, he might as well have been someone's son for as much as his age did not tell. And unmistakably, Dalzen instantly recognized that nineteen year old's face. "Takato!" he greeted heartily. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were over in some undisclosed location!"

He grinned. "Well, if you don't tell anyone," he leaned in. "_This_ is the undisclosed location."

Dalzen chuckled. "You…" He looked him over jealously. "Time has not tainted _you_, I see."

Takato grinned. "Nor you. I do think your hairstyle is the same as it was thirty years ago."

"It's been twenty-seven years," smiled Dalzen, shaking his head at the number. "Twenty-seven," he repeated with awe.

Looking around the people, Takato inquired, "Are they here yet…?"

"Just you," he answered. "I am glad you've come, thank you Takato."

He merely smiled. "Congratulations, Dalzen—I do hope you will try to embrace that whole war horse thing now."

The crowed tightened for a moment, and so Dalzen rejoined in quiet confidence, "You know as well as I, Saru was the only one mature enough for_ that_ amusing banter."

Takato let loose a grin to the Morino's wink before they parted.

"Oh!" Walking by, Dalzen touched the arm of his oldest student, Seichi, and asked him, "Did you not come with Sakumo?"

"'Couldn't find him," answered the fifteen year old. "You know Sakumo. He's been amiss for weeks now. He's probably up a tree experimenting with the laws of physics or something," Seichi suggested.

"Yes, well, he may be a troubled student, but if you see him, do point him down to a path."

Seichi suppressed a laugh and nodded.

Dalzen sighed as he returned his presence upon the scene.

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By the time Kano Hoseki entered the odenya, she saw it was not as busy as she believed it would be. The crowds of people still lingered, mainly in packs and around tables, recalling stories to some young, middle-aged, old, or even deaf ears. The drunken ones were the cause of the only real animation: slapping people to hard, shouting the funnier lines a little too blatantly so they lost most of their humor, and asking random people if they knew the weirder facts of life. ("Hey, you ever have a kunai land on it's ring? It was the _damnedest_ thing…")

But forty-four years old, she was most intrigued by a young man there with another one of Dalzen's students she could not quite remember the name of. The boy looked about ten years old, bored, with a head of hair just like his father's. Clumsily, their eyes met, and immediately, she trotted off to join the man of the hour.

Sakumo received a lot of funny looks, but never one from a woman, and never in that way. A curious stare was a curious stare. He stood, but lost her behind a ring of people next to a booth. "…Sakumo," eyed Seichi. "I had to keep a watch on you, and yet I refuse to engage in another pointless introduction and conversation to satisfy the age-old art of inquisition."

"Fine," agreed the young boy, who followed her trail.

Seichi rolled his eyes and sighed, watching him until he left his sight.

There was another group of people before his squad leader and the girl, a trio of men Sakumo used as a shield. The two had been gazing at each other with the same look Dalzen had given frequently that night. The reminiscence nearly went unspoken until he murmured, "Keiko,"

"Dalzen," she smiled.

She leaned in and they embraced.

Immediately after they parted, there was no mistaking Dalzen asked her quite expectantly, "Where is Coushander?"

To which Sakumo's eyes rounded as he stared on in silent shock through his veil.

To which she frowned bitterly: "Who?"

Dalzen was at a loss to respond when he caught from the corner of his eye…

"Hey, watch it, pipsqueak!"

Sakumo's foot begged to differ as he hopped aside from the impact, looking up to find the stares of captain Dalzen and the woman.

After a moment, the Morino whispered something in her ear. She nodded and walked off, with an interested glance at the young boy. Dalzen smiled when the boy hung his head though he had not much to hide. He guided him over by the window in solitude. "I'm sorry, sir," said the 'pipsqueak' with his right foot turned in.

"Did you mean to ask me something?"

Sakumo refrained from answering too quickly. "No," he answered slowly. "No, not really."

"All right then," Dalzen pointed. "Let Seichi take you home."

"Aww—but he's in one of his moods. I'm fine by myself."

Dalzen grinned. "Seichi _will_ see you home; that's an order," he prodded the young boy's chest. "Curiosity could see that you _never_ sleep," he added.

"Yes sir," said Sakumo.

Dalzen nodded and watched the young boy return to Seichi. Satisfied they were walking out to leave—Sakumo with more of a careful hobble to Seichi's disgrace, the Morino set off to resume his conversation. He found her in the opposite corner where she promptly suggested they take it outside.

Once there, in the free wind of the night, he was forced to ask again, "What happened with you and Coushander?"

The name was like a jinxed codeword. She grew furious within seconds. "That _bastard_ is still _sulking!" _she scathed.

She wasn't normally this quick to her temper, to his surprise, and it probably said her point quite clearly as her dark eyes flashed angrily in the moonlight, but Dalzen needed a little more. "Calm down—I've never seen you this upset. What happened?"

She bit her lip and tried heeding his subtle suggestion. She twirled her black hair for a moment for something to do before she caved and sighed. "He's a damn bastard," she pronounced as if she'd called him a fine gentleman. "And _why_ his is a damn bastard is because of what he's doing right now, which is probably nothing."

Dalzen frowned. "What about…Jiraiya?"

She was quick to answer. "He will grow up in the same way that Sakumo is now. He will not have a father."

Kano Hoseki knew she puzzled him, which was an incredibly rare thing no one could even _fathom_ accomplishing. She took another deep breath to try and explain. "Jiraiya reminds him too much of Saru—" And suddenly, her voice returned to that of a woman's. "Oh but you should see him," she smiled. "He is so much like Saru."

"Is he?"

"Yes, so much…" she shook her head of the returning gentleman. "_Idiot…_" she murmured.

"How_ is_ Kousa?" he ventured in asking.

Instantly, she scoffed. "He would go off his _rocker_ if he knew you called him that. The man thinks he's dying."

"_What?!"_ Dalzen exclaimed.

"I don't believe it," she said indifferently, rolling her eyes. "I think he'd _kill_ himself if he ever even _saw_ a kunai again."

"So what does he think he's dying _of?"_

"Other than being constantly stuck in the hellish fog of Kiri? He thinks it's from senescence, ironically enough," she answered with a curt laugh.

"Senescence?"

"Well, that and his war wounds."

Dalzen returned her look intensely. "You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

"Dal_zen,"_ she confided in earnest. "He is the _same_ man who walked out on us thirty-odd years ago. And we all know what condition he was in then…I was a total _fool_ to think he'd softened…" her eyes searched around in disillusionment. "He's as bitter now as he was then," she said. "Hatake Coushander is still in that battle, many miles away from you, or me, Ichida, or anyone. He does not want company, God knows he never wanted that medal, and he still cannot understand why we dig out ours. That man…" she shook her head. "Is dammed—and he still believes that. I _despise_ him," and after his less than subtle questioning stare, she quickly added, "And I despise _myself_ for trying."

He listened to her, and he could hardly believe time had not changed his old friend, not even with her return. _Their_ old friend. Dalzen grew even quieter, thinking of all that happened before those twenty-seven years that carried them until now. "…Perhaps…" he thought aloud after a while. "We did not do enough." Her brow raised. Dalzen's sigh was inward. "He and Saru…they were like our own brothers…Maybe…we abandoned him."

"He abandoned _us, first,_ Dalzen," she reminded adamantly.

"But maybe when a person walks away, they only want to see if you follow them into hell or not—Maybe we chose wrong—"

"We never _had_ to _choose,"_ she refuted. "He did it to _himself!_ You know very well he was too headstrong for that! You know what he did to those _people!"_

"There is always a choice," said Dalzen. "I know you would not be so indignant right now had you not sought him out as you did."

This silenced her.

Finally, she looked to him, light reflecting into her eyes softly as it had not done. Kano Hoseki said, lowly, "…Only to find he was dying."

They embraced each other again as he thought, _twenty-seven years…_a number so huge, those years may as well have been rewinded to only yesterday.

Those words ended Morino Dalzen's fiftieth birthday; containing a respite that included many years of changes, many things that remained the same, some bitterness, pain, stubborn refusals, and an old song that still lilted in the air between old friends.

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	5. And I'll Take the Low

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 5  
_**And I'll Take the Low**_

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The next afternoon, Sarutobi was summoned to the second hokage for a reason "unknown." That was his favorite kind of summon, and yet he knew whatever Nidaime had to say was bound to be something routine, so he readied himself by imagining the meeting would contain something…at least _remotely_ mysterious…

"Saru," said the second hokage. "I have something for you."

It looked brighter yet. "Oh?" said the young man.

"And I trust you will not pry at it's contents," Nidai added quite _mysteriously_. He produced a letter through a gargantuan pile of papers littering the desk. That was how it was since he came to the position after his brother, as head of all Konoha shinobi. Sarutobi had to wonder how one brother could be so organized, and the younger possess only an organized _mess_. It was no surprise the man didn't spend too much time in here.

Sarutobi took the letter, reading it's one line address.

"Take that to Coushander."

"…You knew him, didn't you? I'm sure he'd like seeing an old friend."

The second smiled. "Perhaps, but I think you'd be best."

Sarutobi nodded, "All right." He turned when the hokage added, "Oh, and there is someone I'd like you to meet later." Naturally, the vagueness gave the young man good cause for wonder, so he smiled. "And Saru," added Nidaime a final time, "Do not call me _'old'_…"

.

"Sakumo!"

Mentally, he jumped from a daydream.

Seichi laughed at his behavior until their squad leader cast the teen a glance, one so civilly ominous, Seichi refrained and grinned in private with his head turned to the final member of their squad, a thirteen year old girl, with a suppressed giggle herself, Ichida Keiko.

The ten year old shot them both a glare, though the two's approval mattered little in his regard. "_Seichi,_" said Dalzen suddenly. "I think you have a hearing this afternoon, you should get going—unless, of course, you would rather remain _chuunin_."

The dark-haired teen grinned broadly under an irrepressible swell of pride.

Dalzen nodded. "Both of you are dismissed."

Sakumo watched as Seichi pranced off, Keiko by his side. Today marked Seichi's coming of age, of sorts, upon Dalzen's specific request. It was no surprise it would happen, nor was the young boy envious of it. It was easier that Seichi was not one to brag or flaunt his prowess, yet he always demonstrated the utter impatience he had looking after a 'child,' to which Sakumo constantly reminded him of his own status as a chuunin, and Sakumo would gladly reaffirm that position anytime, anywhere.

All in all, their squad had come a long way in the past two years. Seichi had not always been so obedient. Dalzen was a masterful, wise man whom Sakumo admired. The older shinobi had been quick to learn Seichi from his darker mischief and rule-breaking, disreputable persona to nothing short of an honorable, trustworthy shinobi. The conversion still left him quirks of unconventional thinking, and name calling—directed primarily at Sakumo where he minded all of them but the word 'child'.

The girl, too, was secure in thought, and Morino Dalzen felt his final, continuing challenge was nothing short of daunting. He knew he was getting too old for this. And though Sakumo was not yet able to understand it, Coushander's son was Coushander's son, in every possible way.

The boy was a stubborn ten year old, and also, and incredibly _perceptive_ ten year old. It was not the kind of combination Dalzen preferred, but considering genealogy, it was not all that surprising. And while these traits were indispensable to a shinobi as Sakumo many times displayed, they were more often more troublesome in the quaintness of simpler life. And as Dalzen inferred from Kano Hoseki's colorful description of Coushander's condition, he sensed a dangerous grudge was forming between the two he could do little about.

It would be one thing if Coushander were only able to explain himself. But owing to the mask he wore and the secrecy he paraded, it was totally out of the question. The unofficial news regarding Sakumo's younger brother was equally disturbing. The predetermination of his fate was like a surrender by the man, and was solidified by his son. For a brief moment, Dalzen smiled at it's humor, and then frowned at it's futility. While Sakumo's stubbornness blossomed into the external kind, Coushander's own remained internal. The two were oil and water. Dalzen surmised someone would have to give in sooner or later, and it wasn't going to be Sakumo. A young boy could not easily recall twenty-seven years worth of an inexorable loss and the pain that refused to go away.

.

Sarutobi waited patiently.

So far, after five minutes, the rumors proved to be true.

Hatake Coushander saw no shinobi.

It wasn't exactly rude behavior so long as he treated every shinobi equally this way and took no exceptions, which, in Sarutobi's case, was true. So, it was not unexpected. It was, however, disappointing considering Sarutobi wouldn't mind finally meeting the man. Nevertheless, he stuck the note in the slit of the door and walked away.

.

"Sakumo," began his squad leader. "I'd like to speak with you."

The boy had no choice but to follow Dalzen where he led.

Sakumo had the supposition of some kind of lecture as they walked to find an empty bench where the breeze from the south came up behind them, off-set by the warm stare of the sun surrounded by clouds. "Sakumo, are you aware that Seichi will be leaving us?" he asked.

"What?" The boy straightened uncomfortably. "Why?"

Dalzen was quick to set his mind at ease. "Seichi has been with us for a while now, but now that he becomes jounin, he will be transferred to another team, and most likely, be stationed somewhere far away."

"Like where?"

"That I cannot say. Shinobi teams as a whole have been undergoing this kind of change the past year. Therefore, it is likely our next teammate, whomever that may be, will probably be younger than you."

"Like…a _genin_, sir?"

"Perhaps. I imagine seven or eight months for shakedown. And beyond that, we will probably continue work in the more nameless areas. So, I am expecting you and Keiko both to grow up and take charge."

"Yes _sir_," saluted Sakumo readily. "Do you think…Seichi will get his own team?"

"Not immediately, but in time, it is possible. With the way things are progressing, I should not be surprised," he mused. Dalzen studied the boy a moment before continuing. "The assignments we take in the future will most likely be longer than six months, Sakumo, are you up for that?"

"Of course, yes sir," he nodded resolutely.

Fifty year-old eyes scanned his intensely. There was probably a smile hidden on that face. Brilliant black eyes stared back at him, and for a moment, they reminded him of someone else's. Maybe it was the youth, he thought, that gave the kid so much energy and perseverance. Perhaps it'd been so long before he remembered the world was big enough to hold that much smallness in the vast cry of time. Dalzen had first met such a time with resentment of the wars, and the complete revulsion of the brave men who dared try, friend or enemy. In his youth, he was bitter for a long time until he met a certain someone who challenged that anger.

Dalzen had no desire second-guessing the young boy. He was learning like Seichi, in the best way possible, along with Keiko, the better way to process the toils of war. They would witness no atrocities; war itself was the atrocity. With inborn genes that tied to Saru-Shin, there was no doubt in Dalzen's mind that the two brothers, both Sakumo and Jiraiya, would take that path Saru had forged. Kano would see to it; he would see to it. A crazed man is often crazy, Saru said, but only a lunatic can share his heart in the way no one else can. Dalzen smiled. Once on that path, there was no amount of societal coaxing could ever divert that road.

.

_コウシャンデル__,_

_I can guess that you are extremely surprised by this note, and I must convey that I was equally surprised when asked to write it. No doubt you will find this amusing._

_It was brought to my attention by the 'honorable' Shijuu Gosen that you ought to be publicly reprimanded from your 'rank' as a 'shinobi' for crimes of insubordination. Though knowing this is an impossible request, I did not wish to injure his pride or the pride of this office by not heeding the suggestion; and I assured him I would handle the matter myself. Therefore, it is with great regret that you are hereby stripped of your rank among your fellow shinobi on the grounds of failure to meet the demands of a client. I imagine this brings you supreme sorrow. The repercussions will be very hard to bear, no doubt; you have my deepest sympathies. _

_Next time, I hope that you might enrage him more to the point of actual coherence._

Nidaime Hokage.

A wild grin crossed Coushander's face for the first time in years.

There was an old song he would doubt anyone knew anymore save three people, excluding himself. He liked to believe he didn't know it anymore. It was easy too, because it was damned irritating, and at only the strangest times, he was reminded of it. The man who had promoted it did so whenever he was faced with a long separation from his home hidden in the leaves—or pretty much whenever the hell he felt like it, which was mind-numbingly annoying most of the time. It was quite catchy. Most shinobi who had witnessed it assumed the man had made it up, yet Coushander knew exactly where he'd taken it from. The man had taken the liberty of remembering such an aire from the direct chaos of the past. He said it was too good to be forgotten. Of course, he said he was a lunatic, too. And because he was a lunatic, he was able to preserve all their sanity, and sometimes, all it took was a smile.

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	6. First Impressions

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 6  
_**First Impressions**_

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Five years later, Sakumo was back in the village for only the second time that year. And since the moment he set foot in the village, he looked up proudly at the tree leaves dancing, scattered in the wind. He smiled beneath a darker shade of indigo as his gaze drifted.

_'And yet in looking back I see  
__From topmost part of farthest tree  
__A land as bright, beloved and blue  
__As any Yeats found to be true.'_

Sakumo was glad to see nothing had screwed that sight.

A slight spring was in the teen's step as he looked with interest among the passers-by in the inner streets and workings of a flourishing green haven, unmarred by debris or decay or the imposition of steely glances he had been so accustomed to. The_ jounin_ found he valued catching up with Seichi—twenty years old; he jocosely declared that he was_ forty_ in the shinobi world, and sweet, brown-haired Keiko—last he knew, was off apprenticing at a med station somewhere north of the border. They needed people with steady hands; she was one of them. Thirteen years old, Dura Nekai was finally competing to earn his rank as a chuunin. He'd contracted a serious case of the flu when they were south of the border earlier that year; the third member of Dalzen's team seemed to have more skill than luck. But the person Sakumo most wanted to meet was one whom he'd already met, but shared no formal acquaintance with, and that was Jiraiya.

Sakumo increased pace again as his eyes remembered Konoha, and took note of the structural changes. He imagined the trees had been growing steadily under his sporadic absences, the tallest of those shaded entire streets and several buildings at a time. Two faces offered their wistful glances over the lush green behind him. Both the first and the second hokage were forever immortalized on the mountainside—stunning likenesses of Konoha's builders, though the first did look a tad plain in his (extremely quiet) opinion. It led him to wonder who would come next. Sakumo heard the jesting rumors, most of which entirely groundless since they originated from the more thrasonical shinobi Konoha harbored. The teen stayed away from that kind of jargon, and saved his opinion for other more sensible people—besides, in Sakumo's understanding, Nidai had already made his decision. The rest was only speculation.

Seichi, though not suffering from vanity just yet, suggested it might be him. And when Dalzen heard this from Sakumo, he told the teen to tell him, "First, you're going through me, young man." And Sakumo added that if Seichi prevailed, he would gladly be his second opponent.

"You, Sakumo_tsu?"_

The teen rolled his eyes at the distant memory and rounded a corner.

He never remembered the academy looking this huge. It seemed an increase of height was met with an increase in height. Sakumo stood looking at it for a moment. It looked as if wings had expanded from it, along with a higher story, thus making it the tallest building for five or six blocks. Sakumo took shade under a tree towing on the eastern side and, in addition to five years assailance of a war, he patiently waited five more minutes.

He suspected the students had not an ounce of that patience as they were probably fidgeting in their seats and looking out the window panes every couple seconds. Sakumo had been too busy catching up with the rest to mind the time_ that_ closely. School itself was like a terrible inferno, without the fire. And when the doors flung open into the breezy tempid air, the first one he saw running out had a gleaming head of white hair, black eyes, and red stripes running down his cheeks. He never stopped moving. He ran back around the party, proceeding to pull on the blonde ponytail of a young girl. And after she whacked him upside the head, he darted off askew, looking back to stick his tongue out in arrant display. And as he ran off the grounds, a note blew behind him in the dust.

Sakumo watched him until the small form rounded a corner.

As the rest of the students cleared, Sakumo walked across the sun-baked ground and picked up the peculiar piece of paper:

To Kano Hoseki,

_Jiraiya has been constantly exhibiting crude behavior. We have given him prior warnings, all unreturned. Please acknowledge this behavior and come in as soon as possible to see this matter resolved._

—Dosui-sensei

Sakumo smiled. _Jiraiya…_he thought, _you're amazing_. And apparently, everyone else knew it too. The teen folded the note in his pocket and ran to follow the prodigy.

Sakumo saw the boy bound through the streets, leaping over the cracks of cement as if to escape their fabled curse. Once he hit the gravel, the trees mottled his small frame with spotty green shadows. Jiraiya was in good balance until he tripped over his own foot. The kid picked himself up, not even bothering to shake the dirt of his short kimono, and then cantered down a shaded path until Sakumo caught glimpse of a small house.

To Sakumo's vision, Jiraiya had no sooner run in with a cheery cry of _"Tadaima!"_ than he ran out with a mischievously winded, _"Dewa-matta!"_

An older woman came out—Sakumo guessed as 'Kano Hoseki'. _"Young man!"_ she shouted_. "Don't go too far!"_

He only waved.

She must have known it was hopeless as she shook her head at his retreating form.

Sakumo jumped down from the tree, carefully hidden by the shadow until her turn included her eyes. Her mouth opened and Sakumo stepped back until he heard her say his name.

Cautiously, he walked up to her. Sakumo thought she may have looked slightly familiar, but he could no sooner identify her from any other older woman—much less one that strangely knew his name…"Hello," she greeted, with equal reserve in her poise.

"…Hello," he said. Thoughtfully, he pulled the note from his pocket and gave it to her. "I think this is for you."

She took it and read it. She smiled. "Did it blow out _again?_ 'Funny how he manages that…"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he started. "But do I know you?"

"No, you don't…" she looked him over with maternal interest. "But you've certainly grown up, haven't you?"

And faced with the embarrassing continual reassessment of his physical stature, he satisfied one more adult with the noncommittal mumble of, "Um…yeah…"

Briefly she looked down the ginger road and the green horizon little Jiraiya had run off into. "Sakumo," she returned. "I hope you will make your presence known to him—and I also hope that you endeavor to see your father."

"…What? Why…?"

"He will explain," she said seriously.

"…_Oi!"_ came a small, hurried voice. _"I forgot my--!"_

Jiraiya skidded to a halt when he saw the silver-haired teenager, masked, with two dark, black eyes underneath long bangs. It was a wonder he caught his balance in time. The five year old's mouth opened without any further speech. Up and down his eyes traveled upon the tall frame, nearly twice his own height. That man was a shinobi. Unlike all the kimono's and plain clothes re-occurring among the town, that man was a pure shell of indigo decorum from his zori to the mask. He wore a green vest with the common makimono pouch for scrolls. The silver hair and dark eyes was where the boy's eyes rested.

And even though his expression was dumbed, Jiraiya really looked like a foretold prankster. Large, handsome black eyes were partnered with those curious red stripes, longer down his cheeks as five years had progressed, all under a head of brilliant white hair. He could not have possibly been born with his father's genes. There was no mask to hide him from the world, no secrecy, no reserve of facial expression, no barred passion and exuberance. He was lively, he was bold, he was brazen, and he was indeed the troublemaker.

The woman smiled easily between their silence. And after she finally met eyes with the teen, she quietly retreated back inside as they continued to look at each other for the longest time.

Jiraiya walked up to Sakumo slowly, staring upwards.

Sakumo looked down and found his voice. "Hello Jiraiya."

_He even knows my name!_ the boy thought wildly. "H-Hello," he said.

"Do you know who I am?" Sakumo asked.

"Sure!" he blurted without really knowing. "Y-You're my _ani_, _desho?"_

"Yes—I am," he smiled. "…What did you forget?"

Transfixed by the revelations from on high, Jiraiya had long since forgotten what it was that he forgot. The boy thought. "Um…Oh," he said after a pause. "I forgot my notebook!"

"Your notebook?"

"Yeah—Miss Misao gives me a penny for everything she tells me to write down."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" he answered. "…Do you want to come?"

_Don't go too far…_Sakumo remembered the woman had said. "Sure," he agreed.

Jiraiya ran in the house and soon came back out with a pad of paper.

Preparing to match his pace with a five year old, Sakumo forgot just who his otouto was when Jiraiya suddenly leapt ahead one more time, "Race you!!" he called back, his stripes swelled by the sheer gale of his smile.

Sakumo grinned, as he had no choice but to follow wherever he led, but he didn't mind. Little did he know, though, Miss Misao was a twenty year-old woman who worked at the hot springs.

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	7. Way In the Middle of the Air

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 7  
_**Way In the Middle of the Air**_

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"Watch _this!"_ said Jiraiya early one morning.

Sakumo stifled a yawn under the blue curtain of dawn, waiting to unveil a bright yellow orb. With lazy eyes, he saw Konohagakure over the mountain faces as dull, quiet, and lifeless, without lights and void of movement. "…What am I supposed to be seeing?" he asked.

"Quiet!" he shushed. "Now…" The boy cast a watchful eye on the dim horizon. "Now! _Hokage!"_ he commanded. "Wake _up!"_

Sakumo's eyes went to the tower below.

A light came on.

Then several.

Sakumo blinked. "Wow."

"And now! Council people! Up and at 'em!"

Sakumo looked farther to his right where, all on cue, lights came on in the adjoining buildings. "Wait—how did you…?"

"_Konoha!"_ he orchestrated. "Wake _up!"_

Sure enough, the local businesses of the downtown lighted suddenly like fireflies. The academy lit up through it's windows and all of Konoha stirred, like a great machine starting to churn. "Jiraiya…" Sakumo awed. "Since when did you…?" he trailed, watching the scene.

The boy grinned. "Isn't that cool?" he said. "Nidai! Come outside!" he urged.

Eagerly, Sakumo looked down in anticipation. Within seconds, the white-haired, tattooed hokage stepped outside, looked out across the streets, and admired the start of the morning. A flood of yellow came to tide the wave of blue, and it came scattering across the eastern sky where the sun rose up once again.

"Wow," the teen remarked again. "You really have a gift," he said, smiling. His younger brother beamed. Sakumo looked at him, "Just don't turn me into a toad or something, ok?"

Jiraiya grinned. "Hey, you know? I can see my house from here," he pointed towards the light of the east. "Sakumo," he suddenly asked, "Where do _you_ live?"

"Me?" thought Sakumo. He scanned the tops of the buildings. He pointed to the west. "Over there. With the grey top, I think."

The boy swung his gaze and looked on with interest.

"Jiraiya," said Sakumo. "…Don't you have class today?"

The boy cringed like a fallen leaf.

"I think you should get going," Sakumo said.

"Oh…ok," he said with a morose glare.

"Do your best," his ani smiled in return.

"…Yes sir!" He stood and saluted his brother before dashing off.

Sakumo spent another couple minutes gazing out across the village. The magic may have receded, but the activity had not. Smells and sounds, and even dust was rising in the air in a placid fashion. He came down after some effort of conscience, taking the long way to get to the missions' office. So…it wasn't his fault that he headed down the familiar paths he'd traveled some odd years ago—or at least so he told himself…

It was off the right, just outside a building where he saw a familiar figure talking with a familiar man. Sakumo's first instinct was to pass them by. Quickly. He avoided eye contact upon the recognition of the older figure, but the grey-haired man had already noticed. The teen shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking until the man called out his name.

His second instinct encouraged him to keep walking, _fast—he won't catch up with you, _Sakumo thought._ You're a full-fledged shinobi now. You can out run him. It's not that hard. _But instead, he let out a low sigh in annoyance. It did little to quell the bother it presented. There was little that Sakumo thought needed to be said between them, because, after all, when you're fifteen, you think you know everything. So what _could_ a man like that want will a self-sufficient shinobi like himself? Nothing, Sakumo answered.

The teen straightened rigidly, ready to face him back to the fields with narrowed eyes. But as Sakumo turned around, his stare went grounded as the man walked forward with a slight limp. He had no explanation for this, nor for the bandages that were wound down his left arm to the fingers. As the man came to within yards, his face, the visible part, had changed. He looked older. The stern stubbornness behind his eyes was a softened grey submission. His hair was longer in the back, and unkempt in the front. What little command he had left was diverted to that over his physical condition. He looked haggard, and focused, for once. "Sakumo," he said again. His voice was quiet. "May I speak with you?"

Cautiously, Sakumo nodded.

The eldest Hatake had not far to look down. The boy was not far off to match him now, and he suspected, give another five years, he would. The older man admired the black eyes he once knew. "Sakumo…" he said plainly, "I'm dying."

It was not a trifle word.

Simultaneously, the air felt cold, as the teen swayed in place with the seriousness the small word had suddenly procured.

Sakumo had seen it. He'd seen it on the battlefields that were otherwise ordinary fields. Death marked it as a struggle. He'd seen it in the valleys where the body could not survive against gangrene and open infection. He had seen it as symbols along the roads and villages as monuments to the next ten generations that some favors came with too high a price. He'd seen it in med stations where men whispered final adieus under their breath to loved ones on the other side of the world. But never had he seen it walk up to him so calmly.

"I do not expect your sympathy," the man said. "Nor do I want it. I only wanted you to know."

His boy was silent.

Coushander averted his eyes; he turned, but Sakumo found the will to ask, "…What…of…?"

The eldest's eyes returned to the ground. "You may not believe me…if I told you," he said.

Sakumo's shrug was a mere twitch. "Try me."

The man considered this. "…Fine," he said. "I'll see you this afternoon," He started off.

"…Wait, where?"

"You'll know."

Sakumo saw him depart, and he squinted in outright confusion as an incipient emotion invaded him; one that bore the frightful name of empathy. It was fragile in him yet, but it was there, coming to pang gently around his eyes and heart as Sakumo watched the man struggle with an obvious pain he knew nothing of.

.

Sakumo went straight to the missions' office where he found his proud, double-nickels captain buried behind a terrible stack of paperwork. Dalzen was not very happy assessing the current formations—in fact, he grunted something mysteriously low when the door opened. But Dalzen quickly reverted to a lighter mood when he saw his student.

The man already had an idea, though, as to what could have brought him here. For that reason, his expression evened out in monotone, awaiting what the boy had to say—or ask.

"…Can I help?" the teen inquired.

Dalzen smiled. "Oh come now. You'll die a premature death of this shit," he shook his head in front of the towering files and pointed a finger. "It is a 'necessary evil' they say," Dalzen flailed, "It's a joke," he declared. "A very good and damnable joke," He digressed. "So! What brings you here to the dungeon?"

The teen returned the smile. "Well…I was just wondering…" he began with uncertainty.

"Hm?"

"Well…_would_ you like some help?"

Dalzen laughed. "Sakumo, you're too _magnanimous_—but I fear there is an ulterior motive behind your offer. Out with it."

"Well…" Sakumo shifted. "It's about…"

"Is it about your father?"

He blinked. "How did you know—?"

"I know," Dalzen said seriously. "And that's enough for now. Sakumo I can work you on a shift here in the mornings. Though as you can see, it's _ghastly_ work," he added seriocomically.

"I'll take it," Sakumo agreed.

"Fine then—Pass me that ink bottle; I put sake in it…"

.

The well of darkness diminished with the first rays of light that greeted the teen upon exit. A headache was now in the gentle process of healing with the aid of the open air. What a dungeon indeed.

Sakumo's first instinct was to go to the house, but only wasted time in a fruitless effort. There was no one there. He re-tracked his steps from earlier in the morning, but he could not find the eldest or the flittering Kosaka. Class from the academy would be getting out, so his body let him to where Jiraiya called home.

He went straight down the path, taking Jiraiya's route, turning right, where the streets ended, and he walked down along the dirt path about a quarter of a mile.

His first view of the house was from behind. And as Sakumo came closer, he saw a man was standing out front and within a matter of seconds, a sprig of betrayal moved into the teen's soul when he saw Jiraiya hanging about the unmasked man, tugging on his robe; a bright, careless expression on his face.

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	8. The Black Sheep

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 8  
_**The Black Sheep**_

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Coushander turned his head and simultaneously, wished he had not. The young boy at his side looked with him and gasped, "Sakumo!" Jiraiya ran up to him and reached out his hand. Ruefully, his elder brother obliged and came forward with short steps and an equally short temper: _Just how long had Jiraiya known his father anyway?! _

An excited frenzy possessed the young boy, nothing short of a green butterfly scanning the flowers without ever resting on one. Little Jiraiya spoke with his eyes, as he only had the drive to look them both in unison as he led his brother to his father; together, side by side. The idea resounded in his heartbeat like a gentle breeze, yet he could not keep still. The two Hatake that had come before him, were now the three Hatake together, right now. The boy was too enthralled to notice his ani did not share the giddy feeling. Jiraiya awed them both in silence.

A doting hand on the man's kimono a minute prior was an affection Sakumo could not see any child doing, not even that of a stranger's. Through the five years, he never would have dreamed those two would have a history after Jiraiya had followed so closely in his footsteps. Coushander was a man proven to have no love or respect. Sakumo watched Jiraiya's open smile in perplexity.

"Jiraiya," said the eldest. "I know you have things to do. Run off—I must speak with your brother."

_Your—__**My**__ brother! _The words reverberated in the young boy's mind like an undeniable truth_. How amazing that he actually said those words…!_

Jiraiya pouted: "Aww, but come on, _please—?!"_

"Jiraiya," said the eldest with some strain. "Do as you're _told."_

"Aww…" he mumbled. Jiraiya pleaded his case to Sakumo with big eyes, where he was met with equal determination. "…_Fine_…" the boy conceded petulantly, folding his arms. He turned around and walked away slowly with short, high steps.

Coushander made sure he left their view. And once the eldest was satisfied, he led his Sakumotsu inside.

It was an open floor plan in the entry, a clean floor with little on the walls. A folding screen partially hid the table and chairs, and beyond there was an open doorway to the rest of the house. "So, wondered Sakumo. "What do you do here?"

The man was not naïve to his son's debasing tone and to his reference. "He is my son."

"He is a shinobi," Sakumo argued.

"Yes," Coushander admitted. "I have two like that."

Frustrated with his father's civilness, Sakumo tapped his foot in quiet vexation; he folded his arms. The betrayal of kindness Jiraiya might have received aggravated his conscience further. His father showed no such mental distress, as his focus rested with his elder son. "Please—sit down."

Sakumo continued the frankness: "I prefer to stand."

His father kept whatever sigh he had as inward. "All that shinobi training…I suppose," he said quietly.

"No," his _musuko_ answered angrily. "I just have nothing to say to you."

"Well…I do. Will you hear it?"

His boy nodded mechanically.

"Sakumo," he said. "I am sorry."

Sakumo stood still. He felt the tone in the air grow serious, much like the waving rows of wheat in the fields back home, waiting for a dark grey scythe.

"I am sorry," his father continued. "I am nothing to call myself, I know that…I was never a father to you, I do not recall…much of an instant. For that, neither you nor Jiraiya can be my son. I accept that...Sakumo, if you can believe any of this, just know that I…I am sorry."

Sakumo's silence listened for pins dropping, antique static of an old radio, and a slight draft from the window, but he could not hear any of which. Undisturbed for over four years, those words were three he never thought he'd hear spoken, words that suddenly numbed his prejudice and conscience in their total honesty and candor. He stood there in the storm of a cold rain of words, choosing whether or not to believe them. He fought it, and he flinched. His father did not seek confirmation; his eyes were grounded in penitence, and his quiet voice resumed. "Could you…" he said slowly. "Forgive me?"

Sakumo darted his eyes, and he answered.

"…Yes," he heard himself say.

An inborn grudge had loosened, somewhat. He'd let it in through anger and resent; he'd let it go, lightly, with contrition. The teen remembered the morning with renascent concern. It was a task for the man to walk. He never did favor his left side. It had been the first time Sakumo realized the man was showing his age, whether he wanted to or not. Whatever God-forsaken sickness it was, kept his voice quiet, his stance constricted, and his eyes grey and incredibly clear.

Sakumo was silent, just as his mirror reflection. The feelings he built were shallow still, like a rain dish. He wouldn't know what he would find if he opened himself any farther; he wouldn't know yet if he could even take it. Death was not a trifle word. And once it sank in, there was no going back.

The eldest Hatake shifted his gaze towards the window on his left. "…_Jiraiya!"_

Sakumo was startled.

"Jiraiya, come in here!"

The fifteen year old looked around and sure enough, he was not let down to see the boy almost half his size inch into the room from the door behind him, uncovered for his peeping. He walked in only because he had to, as if some-what averse to wading though the delicate, sober air. Sakumo blinked at his brother's presence; only five years old, he knew as much as Sakumo had never to leave things alone. "Let me see you two," their father said, guiding them by a long-lost paternal tether still within him. "Come here,"

Jiraiya came forward to stand beside Sakumo. The two stood in place for the second time before the eldest Hatake, who took hold of their shoulders and searched their faces. "Sakumo…lower your mask."

He did so, and resisted the urge to look at his sibling when Jiraiya was looking back and forth with a wonderment behind his eyes he could not suppress.

Slowly, their father drew back, and it was clear he was fighting a well of emotion. The sight was overwhelming and unprecedented. He knew it, Sakumo knew it, and Jiraiya definitely knew it. There was not anything the boys could say as he spoke in a voice that steadied with time. "You two…" he remarked. "You two…No matter what you think…I am proud of you both," he looked them equally. "I love you both. And I am sorry to you both."

Jiraiya saw his ani flinch.

"Jiraiya," the eldest shifted the dark, weary stare downwards, which made the boy straighten under the weight. "I am glad you…I am glad you have Sakumo. May he be a better figure for you to learn by. Jiraiya…you have every single bit of strength in him as you have in yourself. Those marks…those marks are very special. You'll know the reason someday…" he murmured. "Sakumo," he said after he broke his gaze. "Please…watch over your brother…and protect him, and his name—no matter what. It's up to you…to do that."

He nodded, looking to his left to avoid his brother's eyes, which were asking him tacitly in the confusion of youth if something else was wrong. Between the wordless acknowledgements, there was no further answer from either of them. The boy got up the nerve and asked, "_Otou…_Do you…Do you have to go away?"

"Yes…" he said. "Yes. I must."

"For how long?"

"For a very long time," he smiled faintly.

After a failed attempt at direct confirmation by the boy, he looked to his brother's unreadable profile, which offered him no comfort. Jiraiya blinked, furrowing his brow, and puffing his cheeks. "Will we see you again?"

"I…" he stammered. "God willing, yes," he said. "Yes; but not for a while."

Sakumo's shaky voice had already given him away: "…Are you afraid?"

The eldest grinned. "No, Sakumo. I am not."

Coushander had heard once it was some shinobi rule of conduct not to express grieving emotion, but it seemed Sakumo did not fully adhere to those rules, as his eyes were reflective in the light.

"_Tadaima_, is anyone—" Kano Hoseki blushed. "Oh."

Two Hatake turned, and the third in the center looked up. The woman bit her lip. "I'm sorry…" she said. Her grin was a crooked one from trying to suppress it. Three Hatake in one place was like all seven planets lined up so ominously, something very good or very bad would happen. Kano Hoseki would have bet on the good part as she dropped her bag. An interesting idea formed in her mind as the three stood there with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. "…Would you all mind coming outside?" she asked, walking to her right to search for something on a shelf.

"What for?" the eldest asked.

"A picture."

"Oh God…" Coushander suddenly groaned.

"No, no, really," she said, finding the instrument, and checked the film. "I have one picture left. And there are three of you. Do the math."

Naturally, Jiraiya was first to recognize the stroke of simple genius. He followed her instructions, making sure his ani followed him. The eldest was last to come. The man asked her, "Keiko, why must you do this to me?"

She grinned at him lovingly. "Because you can still call me Keiko," she reminded.

He coughed. "How unfair…" He looked on his boys outside. "I still have to tell him."

"Oh," she acknowledged. "Just take it slow, we talked about that…" she said, leading him out.

Outside, Jiraiya stood next to his ani, and their father came and stood next to Jiraiya. "Great!" Kano beamed. "Ready?"

Jiraiya spoke for them with an enthusiastic, "Yes!"

She smiled, and then snapped the picture.

After a moment, the polaroid rolled out, and Kano took it, walking up to Jiraiya, "What's say you and me take a walk?"

"Aww, but—"

"Come on," she took him by the hand, casting a final glance at the man she'd loved and loathed in a perverse cycle. She smiled at him, and then turned back to the young boy, giving him the square image. "Here, she said, "Hold it in the light; you'll see it develop…"

"Sakumo," he said. "There is one last thing,"

The teen was quiet at first. "You said…" he thought. "You said that I…I wouldn't believe you," he said while watching the careful movement of his father.

"Yes, I did," He turned around and backed away to sit on the steps of the porch, Sakumo followed him, but did not sit. "I have not long," the man said. He smiled off in the distance. "By all rights and by all bets—I'm a dead man."

Sakumo waited for him to continue as a depressing feeling fell on his shoulders.

"I have cancer, in my lungs…" he said. "And it has been suspected that I contracted it from my time in Kiri."

The teen nearly fell over in disbelief. His ears were proven to not be deaf yet as he still heard a bird's call, but still he was taken aback by the word he'd heard his father say. "K-Kiri?!" Sakumo asked. "Kiri? You don't mean…"

"Yes, I do," Coushander looked him in the eye. "Kirigakure. Over thirty years ago. It's been in me since, and aggravation let it cripple me."

"K-Kiri_gakure_," Sakumo repeated incredulously. He shifted his feet and shortly turned around, balling his fists, and then releasing them. "What?" he blurted in incomprehension. "Since when were _you_ in _Kiri?_ The land of the mists, right?" he added.

"The very same. Mist so thick it's blinding. I cursed it often."

It was a true representation. Sakumo could not know how his father could say it so definitively. _And he __**cursed**__ it?_ The teen gave way to frustration; he turned his head just so the man could not see his face.

"I knew you would react this way," he said calmly. "I don't blame you."

"But—Since _when_ were _you_…just _what_ did you _do_ there? _Diplomatic work…?!"_

"No, Sakumo. Back then, with Kiri, there was no such word," he said slowly. "Back then, the only keepers of peace were shinobi, and I was one of those. Under the first."

His mouth came open in shock. "Un-der, the _first?_ _Shinobi?_" he asked disjointedly.

"Yes, that's right."

"You. A..._shinobi?!"_ he cried.

"Yes Sakumo."

"I don't believe you!" he blurted. "How could _you_ have been a _shinobi?!_ How could you have been one, and not let me even _think_ about it?! You…you have_ no_ respect for us, how could you say _that?"_

"I can explain, if you will hear it," he coughed. "But not now. Sakumo…tomorrow night, I am prepared to tell you everything."

"…'Everything'?" the teen asked skeptically.

"Yes. By the field, back home; if you will hear it."

His boy looked down. Sakumo could not make up his mind until his father said, "I will wait, regardless."

_A shinobi_, thought Sakumo.

A shinobi.

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	9. In A Place Foreign

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 9  
_**In A Place Foreign**_

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Dalzen suffered over an angry teenager the next morning. He did not venture to ask how Sakumo inadvertently alienated the entire department with his sullen, brooding stare. The old captain could only keep his amused smiles inward, and his mouth shut—meaning a sober, uneventful day. Sakumo worked the afternoon as well, with few words to grumble why. His distraction had not much affected his work until he left by way of walking into the door he thought was already open. No one important was around to witness his grace.

_A shinobi._

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The field was not coherent; that was the only way Sakumo could describe it.

Sometimes, it was like a mirage. The field showed you what you wanted to see. Vast seas of yellow mislead you into thinking it was perfect conformity, rather than dissention. And the dissention did not hide these days, for whatever reason possessed it.

Stalks of young, green wheat mottled the sea like neon islands. Other yellow-green shades served as reefs, barriers, and borders. Mature yellow stalks waved around them, waiting to be cut down. The field looked un-kept since the start of the season. Areas of rot lay in among the gold from the rain like boils. Disease threatened the outskirts beneath the trees. Sakumo could not remember a season that stood worse.

His father took interest in his boy's detachment. "We've had too much rain," he commented. Sakumo looked down. "Please—sit," his father said.

Sakumo did so this time, continuing to look out over the field. The two sat like polarized magnets, far apart from one another on the wooden bench. His boy was rigid like a plastic form. "It's a curious thing," Coushander said. "From day one this field fooled me," Sakumo kept silent. "It's the only game it's ever played. And now…I have not the strength to tame it. So…it has seen to itself, I suppose."

"…What's wrong with it?" Sakumo asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing…Sakumo," he began. "I cannot talk long; I was hoping we might continue this for a few days."

The teen looked at him briefly, biting his lip from behind a wall of secrecy, once again, his father had not continued. "You said you were…a shinobi," he stated.

"I did. Sakumo…" he took deep breaths. "Whatever you think of me, which I am sure, is not much…Since the day you were born, I have wanted to protect you. And for that reason…I was not anything at all to you," he said. "I am prepared now, to tell you what my motivation was…if you will hear it."

Sakumo nodded in a silent suspicion.

His father looked down, "Thirty-two—" he broke, "No…" he said. "I'll start at the beginning…Your grandfather…was a simple _nojojin_ of the land of fire, and I still remember living beyond Konohagakure…farther west of here. We were not a clan that engaged in the step-ladder fights, and paper wars of the past. The only thing my father owned was his name and his land. My brother—your uncle, was older than me by five years. Saru-Shin…" he paused. His eyes searched the ground in the memory. "We called him that because he was always raising trouble…It was never anything serious…just the fiery bit of youth, I suppose. The stripes on your brother," he said, "Saru-Shin had them; at the corners of his eyes. Saru-Shin…had everything.

"Sun-WuKong," he began suddenly. "I don't suppose you've ever heard of him. The Monkey King. It's a very old legend. Saru-Shin…" he murmured. "Had Monkey's heart," he paused. "The legend tells that Monkey...was a brazen trickster; he lived far off in the Eastern kingdoms, where he possessed powers unlike anything ever before seen. He was a master of disruption and chaos, bringing hell to Heaven, of all places. He sustained that fight until his pride did him in. Eventually, he was captured, and imprisoned…His only salvation came when he agreed to serve a lowly monk and give him protection, in exchange for his freedom. Monkey changed, and reverted back to seek wisdom…of all things, and service to others before himself. But…The man I tell you of now was not blinded by his vanity, but something changed in my brother after he went off to serve under Shodai.

"He never told me what exactly he experienced prior his homecoming, but he convinced me to go back with him. Our father was alone, but encouraged me to go if I wanted it. And it may surprise you, but I did. Saru…he became a self-less man…the likes of which…I doubt anyone will ever see again. Saru was every hand that reached out for the name of freedom. Martyrs," he pronounced. "Are dangerous people. But for a cause like that…" he trailed, shaking his head. "Konohamaru, as it once was, found it's legs to stand with the first hokage," he said, and sighed, "The rest of the world was not as quick. In effect, those were fragile times; fragile relations. More than once did Saru receive reprimands for his conduct. More often…he did what he thought was right, rather than what he was ordered to do. It never fazed him," he said quietly. "In fact…he rather enjoyed the attention. Saru built a curious reputation; he was known by many shinobi of that time, as only Saru-Shin—who was more of a troublemaker, than anything else.

"But he taught me…He taught me self-reliance. He taught me the power of conviction, and…he taught me bravery. The bonds he developed with others were immediate. Saru could change them from the inside…He was stability, incarnate," Coushander said. He paused. "I found…I could still laugh in a war zone. At first, I did not know if that was good or bad, but it was something Saru-Shin would do, so I did not worry so much. He joked, he laughed…and he even sang, to which, God knows, I do not have the will nor the strength to reproduce—I'm sure the loss is yours," he added with a faint smile.

Sakumo was quiet.

"And as shinobi…I traveled with him constantly. I wore a mask to try and hide the fact we were brothers. It's dangerous when you have someone you care about with you in the bowls of hell. Maybe you know that by now, I don't know. But…if you can believe it, I have seen the sands of Suna—Saru always did prefer a _dry_ heat; I've been to the faults of the earth in Iwa, and for a time, I saw nothing but clouds in a darker country, hiding itself to the north. The land…the land that spite me, though…was Kirigakure," he pronounced with reserve. The eldest paused to remember.

Sakumo looked down. A chorus of crickets started a soft chirruping, hidden amidst the grass. The sky scattered to darker shades as the sun was setting somewhere behind them. Slowly, the field surrendered to a misty wave of blue-green, where it would hide it's imperfections with the coming cover of night. The teen's attention was lost, though, to some other place in time.

"Saru knew the terrain better than anyone," his father picked up again. He cleared his throat. "Saru had led missions before, but this would be his first one since his last reprimand where he used a sacred scroll as a weapon…which he did joke incessantly about…The first hokage himself granted him permission to form his own team. The mission was an unofficial one; we were to go undercover, to Kiri, in a place where it's leaders did not care what happened to it's people…where their shinobi either had to obey their orders or leave. That idea was true for many villages. If you did not follow orders, correct or incorrect, you disappeared. There was no one to find you.

"Saru was told to make allies and quell the violence. Both objectives his personality was suited to, and both objectives he accomplished. It's been…It's been thirty two years now since that mission ended," he said. "Kiri has since changed—and it changed me…mostly because it silenced me. And this is the first and last time I think I'll ever speak of it," he said, and smiled. "And actually…we were forbidden to speak of parts of it, pertaining to a certain person…so I will do my best…"

He was silent for a minute.

"Saru and Kiri…both…changed the lives three other people. One of which, I think you know well. Dalzen," he said, "Was not always so nice, you know."

Sakumo looked at his father with surprise.

The eldest smiled. "Dalzen…was such a nasty man…he would have a sort of snarl about his eyes, as if he'd start growling at you like a dog. Kano…Kano Hoseki was in that mission too, along with a man named Ichida Takato…but Dalzen…" the eldest wanted to laugh. "Was the worst…And the most radical change. I met them each before we boarded the ship. He was very tall, and he was silent as the grave. When he spoke, it was either 'yes,', 'no', or 'I don't know'. I think he hated everybody. He was quite fair that way. Back then…" he mused. "The Morino had seen too much of war and strife, both domestic and abroad. And here…Here came Saru-Shin, with the heart of a young child. Only Saru had the intellect and spirit to change him. And after two years, and a couple hits to the face…he succeeded.

"Kano Hoseki…was fifteen years old. The youngest of the team. Takato was seventeen, and I was twenty. Saru provoked a sort of talkativeness in her. She said she never liked her name. So, Saru called her 'Keiko', as she 'looked like one', and the name stuck with us. Saru liked her. But Takato…" he said slowly. "The boy could stutter in the face of God or the devil—I swear. It was annoying. But given two years, Saru changed him as well. I was surprised Saru chose someone like that, but it was evident. Once the boy had confidence, he was a force to be reckoned with. Originally, we had a time frame of six months, but it was Saru's guidance…and stubbornness that made us stay two whole years.

"The ship we boarded…" he smiled. "The _Notsuhodo,"_ he remembered. "Just as we were to board, her mast tore. Someone had left a clipping knife, up in the lookout. It slid through a hole in the floor, and seared some of the rope with it. And just as we were about to set sail again, the crew realized they left some of their cargo back on the wharf…" the man shook his head, and cleared his throat.

"We were delayed six hours, and it'd become a joke we'd sooner sink than reach land…But, we set off a third time, and sojourned on unhindered for three days until we were twenty miles off the coast of the mainland. The captain had been closely watching the barometer fall; he was forced to alter course to a different port, but it made no difference. A day later, we sailed straight into the storm…It was nothing short of a miracle that brought that ship in to the dock…" he smiled, losing his voice. "So foul a sky," he said slowly, "Clears not without a storm. That's what Saru said—he was smiling, at the time…" The eldest lapsed into silence.

Sakumo had been watching him. The images gradually faded from his mind as he saw his father sit there, far older a man than he could ever remember. The idleness and normality that marked his life was a careful shroud that masked Kiri, of all places. Sakumo had never been to the mainland. And yet the mist that surrounded the eldest's past gave him a small idea of just how shady the eastern land was. Sakumo could begin to see it in his mind's eye, through a stubborn veil of fog like the one his father had to sift through to remember.

The crickets were louder now back on land. Motionless, his father sat like a limped Buddha. The teen listened to the song, preserving the silence he sensed was necessary. It was an empathetic response for the second time that week. Sakumo felt tepid, like the calm waters Konoha harbored. Finally, his father spoke, "I'm sorry, Sakumo," he said. "But I'll be here tomorrow."

His boy left, subdued to the point where he only nodded; thinking about Kiri and the Monkey King.

Coushander folded his hands and stared low, alone. The words he'd spoken he could not retract or change, and he'd be forced to continue the rest. The level of disclosure was not something he was used to, nor was his body. A sharp pain invaded his chest; his eyes failed to wince. He was used to it. His brow drew together, thinking about Kiri, and the Monkey King; thirty-two short years ago.

Of course, he mused, that was way back when he wore tighter fitting clothes…

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	10. The King's Shilling

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 10  
_**The King's Shilling**_

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"Kousa," he said. "Come with me."

Those big black eyes glittered in promise. Coushander was always suspicious when he did that, like maybe Saru-Shin _meant_ to show you the mystic ravine behind the house, but all you got out of it was a toad in your pants... (_Remember, it wasn't his fault; you moved. Riiight…_) The headband underneath Saru's bangs was equally intriguing; the soft shine mirrored his clarity of thought, among other things. But really. The fabric looked itchy. Kousa screwed his face: "Well…"

"Well?"

"Well…what about father? He can't manage by himself."

"Have you asked him?"

"No…"

"Well, then."

His brother shrugged.

Saru grinned. He leaned back on the high bank and moved his feet around in the water. Dragonflies darted among the reeds. Frogs swam beneath them under thick clouds of tangled brown moss, in five to six feet wide of track distance. "There's a place north of the border," Saru said. "That reminds me of this place."

"Really?"

"Mhm…But it's nothing like the real thing," he said. "I missed this place."

"Then why are you going back?"

Saru looked at him from the corner of his eye. The black bead formed an exclamation point of surprise with the red mark; his brow stayed even with his grin. The look only egged his brother on. Kousa looked away.

"You talked about Konoha…" he said. "Like it was ten times it's size on the map—beyond the borders, too. Is there any place you haven't been?"

"A place…I have not been…" Saru repeated wistfully. "Let's see…I do not think I have been too far south of the border—very sketchy down there, or too far west; Suna counts for much."

"…Is that _all_…?" Kousa smiled.

"Yes, that's it," he returned, looking at him carefully. It was his little brother's sixteenth birthday. Saru could see through the restlessness. He'd been gone two whole years. And just hours ago, Kousa had been a ball of excitement, hanging on his ani's every words, even after their father had long since fallen asleep to the sound of Saru's voice. Naturally, the first offer appealed to his brother like a new star invading the horizon. It was just out of his reach.

"Well, ask father about it," said Saru, returning his gaze to the brisk neon movement between the reeds. "He let me go."

"Yeah, but you were always getting into trouble."

"Oh hush," he grinned.

"Now…" Kousa looked at him, "You mind telling me about your goofy uniform? And what's with that headband…?"

It was Saru's delight to do so.

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The old man stood on the edge of the trail, where his _odaiji-ni_ met with an arigatou, otoussan. He stood there, watching them leave, and knew he would not see either of them again.

(_Remember…? All too well, _Coushander thought._ Age makes it clearer. He was such a strong man… He could make it on his own, even though he never admitted he was so lonesome. Maybe that's where Saru got it—no, that __**was**__ where Saru got it….Oh Saru. _

_Lunatic.)_

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Coushander secured the cloth across the bridge of his nose.

"You know…We have three hours to walk," Saru took the liberty to inform.

"I _know_," his brother said precociously, as if to swat a bee. He looked at him. "This is going to be a long trek, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Saru grinned, one hand gripping the strap across his chest. "Shall I start singing?"

"…Is that a requirement for all shinobi?"

"No…" he granted. "But I've found it does inspire comitatus."

"Comitatus?" Kousa repeated. "That's a word in stories."

"Yes," his ani said. "But it's real. It's as real as all folks who write about it."

"You mean all two or three of them?" laughed Kousa.

"Perhaps…"

Coushander watched where he was going.

Every step he was taking was one more to distance himself from the only home he'd ever known. He looked behind him and saw the empty trail, with only the leaves of a few poplars making any sound. He looked ahead. That shore of security faced him over fifty paces back, and who sojourned beside him was his brother, a man of twenty-one years whose childish ways were changed into a childish hope; speaking of comitatus, of all things.

Saru offered him raw adventure, and with it, an obligation. It was a contract to follow a flag, a leader, a way of both heart and blade, or so 'shinobi' foretold. It was also a precondition to wear a uniform, as Saru did, and a curious piece of metal, inscribed as that of the land of fire's insignia.

Saru-Shin started humming. It was soft and faint. And it was annoying as it was embarrassing. Even the poplars seemed to stop clapping in the background as Kousa listened. The cadence was high to low; sad and happy at the same time. After the line ended, Kousa asked him, "…What is that…?"

"…The song…" Saru said. "It starts with a c-flat, then a 'b', and then lilts to an 'a', a 'g', and then an f-sharp, and goes all the way down to an 'a'…Quite low," he admitted. "But each line is that way. It's easy to pick up, and even easier to forget."

His brother smiled. "So…you've been most everywhere, lived through comitatus, and now you know notation?" he asked. "Does that headband give you mental powers, as well?"

Saru grinned. "Other than flash signals, no," he answered. "And comitatus," his brother stated airily for the record, "Is created, not lived through," Saru craned his neck to look up through the high arch of the trees. "It's meaning became quite clear to me."

"How so?"

"That…I cannot say," said Saru, returning his gaze to the horizon line. "You will find that out."

His brother frowned indignantly. "So…if I suddenly started singing…would I start to know it better?"

Saru smiled. "Well, what do you know?"

"…Does it matter?" he asked.

Saru kept silent, with only his knowing smile.

Kousa was invited to grin: "Ezekiel has a wheel, you know. Way in the middle of the air," he recited. "Father taught us that one."

"I remember," Saru said. "That's a good one."

"…So how come stuff like that doesn't make it into the novels, too?"

"It's too old, Kousa," his ani said sadly. "They're all too old. Remember 'Pass Me Not'? It passed us by. Remember 'The Black Sheep'? Everybody went out to pasture! Remember 'The King's Shilling'? It's all underwater now, like a hermit frog."

"…_The King's Shilling_," Kousa repeated. "That was about the two sailors, wasn't it?"

"Sure was."

"What were the kid—no, the brothers' names…? Jim…?"

"Tim and Daniel."

"Right, right! 'For sailors will sleep, in the deep, so they say…'" Kousa remembered. "Wait—which one went blind? Was it…Daniel?"

"It was the elder, Tim. Daniel fell from the main-mast."

Kousa looked down. "That was sad."

Saru smiled.

Kousa looked at him. "So what's the name of the song _you_ were humming? The one that starts with a c-flat?—Or can't you say?" he added wryly.

"'The Girl I Left Behind Me,'" Saru-Shin replied.

"…'Never heard of that one," his brother remarked thoughtfully.

"That's one of the really old ones," said Saru. "Long before Daniel and Ezekiel."

"So like, Moses?" Kousa suggested with a laugh.

Saru only smiled.

"Saru, 'you have a girl you left behind you…?" his brother suddenly asked.

"Sure I do."

"What's her name?"

"Konohamaru."

"…Huh? You mean…" his otouto stared in confusion. "You mean the place we're headed now?"

"Yep." he said. "It has the tall trees, just like the ones here and around our house. It's just as beautiful. Lot's of them, too."

"Saru."

"…Yes?"

Kousa stared into his eyes. "You're weird."

"Why…! Thank you!" he grinned. "You know, next to people, I like trees the best," he said.

Inwardly, Kousa rolled his eyes, knowing the statement rang true for him as well.

So instead of the ground, his black eyes traipsed along the jasper bark, and like clouds, the branches linked shapes of their own, stretching upwards to that open sky their leaves hid.

"…Hey…" thought Kousa. "I've got one, Saru—'Grandfather's Clock'!"

"Oh Kousa—It's all been busted."

"No it's not…!" he replied staunchly in the face of his ani's teasing jest. "Now how'd that one start…?"

The ravine was far behind them now.

.

_Don't be angry with me, son, I know I drove you from my door  
__I know that I've been foolish, lad, I've repented o'er and o'er…_

Saru was humming.

He was doing so at a distance from his brother's training, which Saru guessed, would please Kousa with no further embarrassment…

_Black Sheep,_ Saru thought with his predictable smile. _Who knows the Black Sheep…_

So far, Kousa learning the latter part of 'shinobi' was like watching a baby bird fall from it's nest. Repeatedly. It was lucky, Saru supposed, that he found a former teammate, happening to be wandering Konoha's streets like the nomad he was. A patient one, at that. Harou. He was a complainer of the working sorts, but not of the 'easy' work as this. Though, Saru had to admit, he was giving his little brother an uneasy test of mettle.

In the distance, Kousa stood still when the blade he held hid itself in the white cloud, owing to the stronger man with a short kunai blade, pointed beside him only a second later. The blade Kousa held had steadily increased it's weight; Coushander lowered it in defeat.

Harou Nekai withdrew.

"You see what just happened there?" he said. "It was a clone. In the heat of battle, one must note every detail, no matter how small," he returned the blade to the hilt. "We've been going at it for far too long; I see your brother there. We can continue this later."

Kousa inclined his head as Harou moved away, and Saru moved forth. "Kousa," he called. "You drop your left elbow."

His brother lifted the blade to return it to it's sheath, but Saru stopped him. "Let me see that."

Kousa sighed before obliging.

Saru-Shin took the blade with his left hand, and then switched it to his right. He felt the ridge of the hilt was damp. "Ok, so," he took a stance. "You start like this…" He parried the air. "Do this, do that…And then…" In a semi-circle, he guided the blade through the air. His left knee bended, and the height of his arms became unequal. "…This," he stopped, keeping the pose. "You should learn to keep tight as you move. Try not to bend so much. It's important to feel like a spring in close combat so you can move more readily," Saru dropped the pose and let Kousa take back the blade, returning it to the sheath. "You're still catching on though," Saru said. "And like Harou has demonstrated, clones and substitution are _bastard_ things…"

Kousa's dejected look offered agreement.

"Still!" said Saru. "Have you got a kunai with you?"

"Uh—yeah…"

"I'd like to show you something."

Kousa fished one out from the pouch at his side. "…What?" he asked.

"Well, as your feet get faster, I'd like to show you what your hands can do."

"Ok…"

"Now, I'll go stand back, and I want you to aim the blade at me and throw it."

"Uh…Saru…" he began with a dumb look. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of course!" he said, moving back. "Now come on, aim it right for me."

"Hey, this isn't going to end like Ching Ling Soo, is it?"

"Fiddlesticks, just do it," he said, taking his position. "One!" he called, some yards away. "Two…" Reluctantly, his brother raised the kunai. "…Three!"

His brother threw it.

Saru-Shin did not dodge. His hands came up. His left extended swiftly and he caught the blade, stopping it nearly four feet before his head. Saru returned to his brother, the kunai twirling in his left hand. The ani grinned at his brother's large eyes, wide with a stammering shock.

"It takes practice," Saru readily admitted. "But I am confident you can learn as well."

"D—Hey—do all shinobi do that?!"

"…Which is why I said it takes practice!"

"Oh you're kidding me."

Saru smiled; and it only provoked him: "Fine—Fine," he stammered. "But how in the world do you practice something like that?!"

"Carefully and slowly," Saru said.

"…Saru."

"Yes?"

"You're crazy."

"Ah! Ah, ah!" he objected. "I am a_ lunatic_. There's a difference."

"Sure…" his brother muttered, collapsing to sit on the ground. "Of course…" he smiled faintly beneath the indigo.

Saru-Shin smiled down. An old song crept up behind his thoughts and turned up the volume in his head, the lyrics lilting up and down as they always did. _Come take the King's Shilling,_ he stared at his brother's exhausted form. _And follow your dreams;_

_I'll make you a sailor like me._

.

It was a parallel. That of land, and that of sea. The two met with a long and sandy coast, joining both the waves to the unmoving land. The border constantly varied. The waves came in and out at a slow pace the bored noon, creeping up three to four feet, and then receding.

Hatake Coushander had the opportunity of seeing this once before.

It was his twentieth birthday. Saru had given him a mission. So Kousa waited on the dock there with his brother in the land of waves—along with an intensely shy man by the name of Ichida Takato. They were waiting for two more.

At last a young girl turned onto the dock, and she came up to their group. She seemed tall for her age; black eyes, black hair, she looked at the others and said, "I'm sorry I'm late, sir."

"On the contrary!" Saru said. "You're right on time. Kano Hoseki, he greeted. "It's good to meet you. This is Hatake Coushander," he gestured. "And this is Ichida Takato."

"Hello," she nodded awkwardly, smiling.

"I am sure the trip will allow us further introduction," Saru said. "And now, there is one left to come…"

Together, they waited.

The sailors were down further, amidst the wharf, handling rope and cargo. Both Kano Hoseki and Ichida Takato, the youngest of the group, gave the tall ship a long look. It was out in the deeper water, between the two docks like a great brown island, curved upward with high, wooden sides. A row boat just set off to ferry to it some hundred yards, carrying cargo and two young sailors.

At last a very tall man with an almost hostile stillness of disposition came walking up the dock with a stiff conformity to rival the straightness in a hawk's eye. Kano Hoseki started taking steps backward, beside Coushander, forming a slanted line between the four of them. Takato kept going backward, his face suddenly turning a bright white. The man's intimidation factor tripled as he came closer. Kano was nearly parallel to Ichida as only the two brothers stood out.

"Ah!" Saru responded cheerfully. "Morino Dalzen. It's good to have you," he greeted. "On my left here is Ichida Takato; on my right, Hatake Coushander, and finally, we have Miss Kano Hoseki."

The tall man, far taller than Coushander's height, offered an unusual grunt to all this. The quartet took it for a 'hello', as there were a few low syllables he seemed to string together. He said nothing else. And, arms folded, he did not move.

Saru-Shin walked past him as there was one last person approaching their party. "Harou! He said. "Did they send _you?_ How _unlucky!_ Why those scoundrels…!"

The man laughed. "Saru, here is the thing you asked for," Harou presented him what looked to be a thin black book. "Thank you," Saru said, already shoving it in his pack. He gestured to the item in Harou's other hand, "What's that?"

"Oh yes, stand back, all of you," It was a camera. "All in a line, there we go. It's for the record," he explained. "Six months from now I swear you won't recognize yourselves," And when the joke went flat to all but Saru's grin, Harou laughed for them. "Yes, line up," he said.

Takato was on the far right where Dalzen inadvertently struck fear straight into his heart. Saru-Shin went to the middle, Kano on his right. Kousa anchored that side, and he hoped he had not blinked when a swift breeze came through quite suddenly.

"Very nice," Harou mumbled. "Well then Saru, I believe your ship has come in," he joked between themselves. "Take care, all of you."

"And to you, Harou," said Saru, smiling.

A small boat was drifting up as the man left the dock. Two sailors stepped out and met Saru:

"Cap'n says we're ready," one said.

Saru nodded.

And as they looked back to the ship, the sail of the main-mast suddenly split apart like the cutting of a wide ribbon.

"What the hell…?" the one with the dark eyes said.

"Oh shit—that's not good," remarked his younger companion.

"Baka!" the man jabbed his arm. He smiled at Saru: "We'll be right back…" he muttered as the two returned to the cutter.

"…Can we assist you?" asked Saru.

"No—No," the man said. "We have enough men as it is—Go sit on the dock or something," he said. "This'll just take a minute…"

It took four hours.

_Hatake Coushander, Saru-Shin, Morino Dalzen, and Ichida Takato,_ she mentally repeated in her mind, looking at them each. She'd thought of Coushander's name first, with a longer stare when he wasn't looking.

Two hours in, Saru had suggested that Ichida and Coushander should go by the end of the dock and remark on the wonderful native fauna along the coast like two young explorers, come to a foreign land. Of course, he'd only said 'take a walk,' as Takato was in obvious ill-composure of the ever-silent Morino, who did not seem to have the civilness to drop the angry façade, let alone comment on the weather.

So the three had watched as a long white tarpaulin finally found it's way on their cutter; the ship-chandler's voice conversing quite loudly with the captain's. The cylinder was handled by the first mate, and took equally as long to install as the breeze was coming up steadily now, straight from the north. Kousa and Takato returned to the trio as the chandler continued talking with the captain, "Oh, you have _shinobi…_" he realized lowly to him.

"Cornelius, I do not wish to know how you sniffed that out, but I trust you will not disclose that to any other soul."

"Oh great Shingatte!" he said. "You know very well they're bad luck charms."

"Well that's a coincidence, my dear boat is scorned on the highs seas, and even the_ low_ seas, and_ everywhere_ in between," he smiled faintly. "I cannot go wrong_._"

"Famous last words!" Cornelius declared. "_Zan'nen da…"_ he remarked faux sympathetically, with a 'Tck, tck, tck,' beat under his lips.

"It's all ready, sir," the dark-eyed crewman said.

The captain checked his watch. "Four hours," he stated with disappointment. "No matter—We have the _Jeddah's_ store?"

"…Sir?" the crewman questioned.

"The _Jeddah's_ store." He pronounced.

"…The _Jeddah_, Shingatte?" inquired Cornelius. "I give you the Dutchman's mast, and now you want their _cargo?!"_

"Oh this doesn't concern _you,_" he barked back. "Her captain wanted us to carry their store, as she was no longer seaworthy," he explained. "I told this to Houda hours ago—did you all not get that message?!"

"Oh…" muttered the crewman. "Yes sir, sorry sir—This'll all just take a minute…"

Captain Shingatte rolled his eyes and sighed in quiet desperation.

Cornelius took the opportunity to prod him in unrivaled glee: "You're doomed."

With that, he strutted off the dock like a peacock, when he had no feathers. He started spreading word to ready the schooners for the survivors.

Saru-Shin stood immediately when the captain walked over. "My apologies, but we will be delayed at least another hour…" he said. "I hope no one was expecting you."

"Oh no one, sir," Saru answered. "You've given us extra time to get to know one another."

Shingatte first saw the young man Ichida, quite pale-faced, like the look of seasickness; the dark-haired, dubious Morino—by all accounts a serial killer with that menacing look—the curious masked man with silver-color hair, and the quiet young woman. Yes, he thought, they look like a group of winners…_Shinobi,_ he mused. Nevertheless, he smiled, nodded, and walked off to determine the exact location of his first mate.

.


	11. Journey to the East

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 11  
_**Journey to the East**_

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It took two hours to leave the dock.

_There's no turning back,_ thought Saru to a leaping tune, _once the salt's in their veins;_

_Their spirits fly free like a dove…_

Ichida Takato was the only one with an absolutely ill look across his face. It was not from the row boat, gently bobbing along the waves to the larger ship, no, it was the result of one man.

Morino Dalzen had an oar, and Ichida Takato had an imagination. He wondered how Saru could have trusted the man with a wooden stick so early on in their adventure. Then again, Monkey commanded the other oar, so maybe Saru had actually been testing the Morino. Beside him, Kano occupied her time gazing out across the sea, and to the forefront as Takato looked on, there sat Saru's brother. Coushander. Takato mentioned him last because he was almost as mysterious as the Morino fellow. But, he was quite kind and agreeable when they talked with a random sailor four hours prior. It seemed he had the cordiality of his brother, though not half of Saru's wanton jests or disclosure. The mask saw to that, as did his private personality. It was quite a wonder to Takato, though, as to why Kano kept stealing glances at him…The young man's focus was finally diverted as they glided towards the ship.

The boat came up starboard, and the five could instantly see her name and inscription:

_Notsuhodo  
__The Forgotten_

Saru-Shin was last to come up.

"Well then," the captain greeted them. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you," Saru nodded.

"Now, there are just three things: We have set aside quarters for you below-deck; two, my men can handle themselves, try not to get in their way, and three, please consult Houda, as he can answer any of your questions. Is this understood?"

"Perfectly," said Saru.

"Fine then, you can have free reign on the deck, so long as you mind us."

Saru nodded again, and the captain left them. "Now then…!" spun Saru. "Follow me!" He led his troupe to the far aft, across the _Notsuhodo_, to look out over the sea. The shore shone in the distance, and gradually shrunk it's size. "Now that we are acquainted with one another," Saru resumed. "I'd really like for us to further get to know each other," he (dangerously) said. So after a rather black response, their own team captain folded his arms and declared, "I am Saru-Shin. You have nothing to fear. It is my belief that we will carry out this mission in the best manner possible. And…the tales of my unconventional wisdom have never _once_ been exaggerated." To which Kousa grinned, "We have six months, Saru…"

His otouto took a seat on the deck, against the wooden rise. Kano followed suit and sat next to him. Ichida took one look at Dalzen, and moved to Coushander's left. "Six months," said Saru, "Is a very long time—In fact, I would not be surprised if we have to stay a little longer."

"…That's assuming we even get to the mainland," his brother said quietly.

"…And that's why the tales of you pessimism are not exaggerated, either," grinned his ani. Kousa rolled his eyes.

"So! Anyone else? Dalzen?" Saru suggested.

The Morino grunted, as he had been so fond of doing, and turned away from the group, closing his eyes. "…Right then!" Saru said. "Takato! That's a good, strong name! Please, tell me, what side of Konoha are you from?"

"…Oh! W-W-W-Well," he stammered. "I-I-I'm f-from th-the w-western side, s-sir."

"The west?" said Saru. "Kousa and I came from the west; that's quite a coincidence! Oh I do miss it…" he mused.

Takato only had the concentration and will to nod in agreement.

"And Kano," said Saru, looking down. "You have a lovely name."

"…Oh—well, to be honest, I never really liked it…" she smiled nervously. "Well I mean who names their daughter 'Hoseki'?"

"Well, who names their son _Coushander?"_ Saru jested teasingly.

The girl broke into a broad smile and a blush she aimed at Saru's feet.

"Coming from _Saru-Shin_…" Kousa shot back.

"Hey!" Saru responded. Suddenly, he knelt down and looked at Kano in earnest. Finally, he pointed his finger, drawing_ kana_ symbols in the air. "…That's it," he said. "That's it!" He eyed her. "You're a _Keiko_, that's what."

"…Keiko?" she said.

"Kano…_Keiko_, Hoseki," he grinned.

She smiled.

The Morino, in the meantime, silently tapped his foot in silent annoyance of the trivialities.

.

The first night, he other spent down in the cabin, but Saru remained on deck, all the way up to the ship's fourth watch. Alone, he wrote inside the book Harou had given him with a pen:

_Kayoubi__, 1__st__ night,_ he wrote, deciding the date. _Calm, cool, b. holding at 30.32. Made the acq__tnce__ of Captain Ken Shingatte, Houda, & v. crew-men. _Notsuhodo_---inscribed 'The Forgotten,'; curious to know what it means. Six hour delay in boarding. Attributed to mast & cargo mishap. Suspect mission has already started. Well acquain__td __with my team:_ (And here, Saru wrote in code…or possibly sloppy writing—one of the two.)

_かの"ケイコ" ほせき_: _Medic nin, w/about 6 mon of training. Quite tall for her age. 15. Not much experi__nce__; will try and learn her properly. Naturally perceptive. (…About my otouto? Ha-ha.)_

_もりの __ダルセン__:_ _Interesting character. 21 yrs. Experi__nce__; suspect too much. Un-sociable; bound and deter__mnd__ to make him laugh._

_いちだ たかと__:_ _Classic case of lack of confid__nce__. Will try and change that; will take some time. 17 yrs. Potential for im__nse__ strength._

_はたけ__コウシャンデル_: _My brother. 20 yrs. Still green. Incres__ingly__ reserved. Have to watch him care__fuly__. Potential to be an old war horse._

Saru broke code. _Myself:_ he wrote, _サル__-__シ__ン__,_ _25 yrs. Jour__ny__ to the east begins. Kiri Diary commences. __Watch for snakes._

Saru-Shin placed two seals across the side when he was done. The pen, he stuck behind his ear, and he sat there and thought. Wistfully, he looked out over the wide open sea, a song playing somewhere in the background.

_The Forgotten,_ he mused.

.

The next morning, the crewman with the dark eyes realized he was being watched by the shinobi commander with the dark eyes and the white hair. Naturally, he felt he could be imagining this, but when the chess pieces come together only to discover they're all knights of the wrong color, he can't help but wonder. It wasn't something he had not expected, Kizuato taught him better than that—with the exception of what to do when the original plan was…delayed…

"Oh, nice wind we got!" commented his companion with a sudden nudge to his arm.

Taro rolled his eyes of Hattori's commonplace, infecting his intricate suspicion every five minutes like an annoying woodpecker. "Move that," he said, nodding to the box by his side. "Houda wants it moved to the captain's office."

"What's in it?" Hattori asked, picking it up.

"An antique rug—how the hell would I know," Taro grumbled.

"Feels heavy. I bet it's an antique anchor."

"A paperweight?" Taro suddenly wondered. He shook his head. "Fah! Get outta here."

"Ok…"

"…Baka," Taro muttered after him.

.

At the bow, Saru fumbled with the kunai.

Looking out over nothing but ocean, his brother asked him, "What are you doing?"

"Oh never you mind…"

"Saru, are you planning an invasion?"

Working, his ani shrugged noncommittally.

"Saru," Kousa continued, playing with him, "The ship is sinking."

"…There!" Saru proclaimed. "All done!"

"All done with what?"

"Never you mind."

Coushander rolled his eyes over his brother's new phrase. "Go keep an eye on Takato," Saru told him. "I'm sure he could use some company."

"Every time he goes on deck, he looks like he wants to jump overboard."

"Then him and Dalzen have more in common than we thought!" Saru grinned. "Oh—and where's Keiko?"

"You mean Kano? She's talking with the resident medic. Apparently, he's from the south end of Konoha."

"Stern side, Coushander," Saru corrected.

"Whatever. Aft, starboard…it's all greek to me."

"Well…" Saru flicked the kunai in his hand. "I have a plot to discover!"

His otouto looked at him quizzically, "You know I was just kidding about the invasion thing. You can take things slow, you know."

"Never you mind…" smiled Saru.

On second look, he was Houda's height, with a stare that looked you in the eyes and refused to surrender until either you turned away, or he blinked. His hair was an off color white, yet he was young—somewhere in his twenties. His manner had been both direct and polite, but there was something that played behind those eyes in an almost childish inquisition. The red stripes at the corners of his eyes played to that supposition.

"You mean Taro?" Shingatte asked. "What about him?"

"I have reason to suspect," Saru said. "That he might compromise our mission."

"…How so? Do you have proof?"

"Sir, if you would care to tell me his last name, that would afford the first piece of evidence I have."

"Hm…" the captain grimaced. "Well…It's not officially on record, but he has told us it is Ramida," he eyed Saru carefully. "How does that satisfy you?"

"Well, it says a great deal," Saru-Shin began. "The fact that his name is not fully on record indicates error of either the government or the person, in which case I humbly submit to governmental error. But, if it is the reverse, my suspicion is supported. I think I know what his actual last name is—but I cannot reveal that because it would endanger our mission."

Shingatte regarded him with awe. "You're a very analytical man, mister Saru."

"Far from it, sir. But I will act as I must for the sake of our mission."

"So…" the captain pondered. "You think my crewman is not who he says he is…but you can't tell me _who_ he is."

"Yes sir, that's correct."

"Well, I admit it's hard to believe you without more proof. The man hasn't done anything wrong…_yet._" he added.

"That might be my second piece of evidence. Did he ask to be put on your ship?"

"Well…" Shingatte thought back. "Yes—Houda met him almost two months ago, and he transferred here."

"Well," Saru said. "If he is who I think he is, I have no further proof than my instinct, but I would like the chance to…confirm my suspicion."

"How so?"

Saru dug out the kunai and held it up, "I've rigged this kunai to react to a fire-type user the moment it's touched and chakra runs through it. My theory is that your crewman will react to this and…show his true colors, so to say. It's harmless—though the outcome may not be."

"Well…you've certainly put a lit of thought into this."

Saru shrugged," Not really."

"When did you first suspect him?"

"Back on the dock, he seemed eager, and of course his black eyes warranted a look. And also, my gut feeling told me he was someone else."

"You've learned to trust your instincts," Shingatte said. He too shrugged. "Well…I won't object," he said, "Do what you need to. When will you confront him?"

Saru smiled, "Well…soon," he said, hoping that was enough. "I will be discovering it myself—I will not bring my team into it."

"So…they don't know?"

"No, they don't."

Slowly, the captain nodded. "Fine then, if there's nothing else."

"…Oh!" Saru remembered. "There is one thing I'd like to ask you sir—a personal question."

"All right," Shingatte nodded.

"Do you know the King's Shilling?"

After a pause, Shingatte gave him a knowing smile and then laughed, "You are a very odd man, mister Saru."

He inclined his head. "Thank you."

.

The second night was much like the first. Saru-Shin neglected to write a full entry. _Suiyoubi, 2__nd__ night,_ he wrote, was only paired with the current reading of the barometer, _29.42, f._ He closed the book and returned it to his pack below deck without his other teammates knowing. He headed above deck, the kunai weighting his pocket.

The forth shift watch went from midnight to four in the morning. Saru waited at the bow of the ship, admiring the night while keeping a watch for what he knew was coming. The _Notsuhodo_ was silent, like a still picture painted on the sea. It was like the lovely paperweight Saru saw on the captain's desk, shaped just like the _Notsuhodo._

"Oh hello there."

Finally a young man came in to view—young, with a gentle face. "You here all alone?"

"Yes—I like the view," Saru smiled. "It's so peaceful."

Hattori shrugged. "It is, but it can be so frantic," He re-adjusted the ropes he was carrying around shoulder and he added, "Oyasumi."

Saru nodded back and kept waiting.

Ramida Taro soon came along and stopped as he saw the shinobi.

"Can I ask you a question?" the shinobi asked through a silence that amplified their suspicions.

"How did you know?" Taro admitted angrily.

"I have many more years of experience than you. I have the judgment to decide when things…are fishy." Though Saru was confident, he still had to be sure for the captain's sake. He'd promised him that much.

Taro's eyes were still dark, he took a step backward, but stopped himself from going further. "I'm not afraid of you," He said for his own benefit. "He'll get you."

Saru appeared behind him instantly, like a ghost; a kunai drawn to the man's neck. "Where is he?" Saru demanded.

"I won't answer that!" Taro hissed.

Quickly, Saru let the kunai touch what was only smoke, and carefully, Saru aimed the blade in front of him. Taro caught it, and Saru saw bright, blood-red eyes anxiously dart back at him. Taro was about to move when the kunai in his hand suddenly felt hot and singed his skin. His reaction allowed Saru to move instantly, and he held another kunai to him, both edged over the ship's rail. Taro had to let the kunai fall. "Tell me where he is and what he's doing!" Saru commanded.

Taro held his gaze—a two-pronged Sharingan began to spin. Saru blinked and cursed as he was knock to the deck. He swung his legs around and was able to de-balance the Uchiha.

Saru ambled back up, moving away, more conscious of the danger in those crimson eyes.

Shaken, Taro grasped the railing behind him. An eye seemed to twitch as his expression took on desperation. Suddenly, he hauled himself up and jumped.

_"No!"_

Saru ran to the edge just to see the water and foam of the impact.

Someone else came up behind him to see it too. Saru spun only to see it was the young man he'd talked to before. Hattori looked aghast.

Saru found it hard to sympathize. "Come with me…" he said slowly. "We need to see your captain."

Hattori nodded, looking sad as nothing surfaced.

.

Saru recounted the situation with the captain, and Hattori was there to confirm the eyes. Saru could see the happening had confused him. The captain looked up and gave Hattori some direction on what to say to his crew mates, then he turned to Saru-Shin. "I hope you haven't noticed anyone else in danger aboard my ship, have you?"

Saru shook his head. "It seemed he might have been given a mission to stop us, somehow, from arriving, but he failed."

"All right then, both of you are dismissed. Saru, it might be best if you and your squad might stay below deck for a while."

Saru nodded grimly, already frustrated with Kizauto's antics.

.

The third night was bumpy.

_Mokuyoubi__, 3__rd__—barometer's fallen, susp__ct__ storm somewhere—NNW. We're settling in, but it will all start on the island now. (__Watch for snakes__—baka) Told Dalzen a joke, but he didn't laugh or smile._

The rolling motion of the wooden vessel increased in intensity every hour. Houda came down to tell the ninja of the captain's decision to sail for the Tsuyama port, instead of Kushima. Saru frowned at this as it meant a longer journey to Niimi, in the mainland. But, he could not blame it on Kizuato—storms were the product of natural instability. And such was the mood the next morning.

Just about twenty miles off the coast, rain pelted the ship like tiny spheres of hail. Kano, Takato, and Coushander were all clutching something where they were sitting, and Dalzen sat on the floor seemingly unperturbed, listening to the chaos as if it were music. Saru-Shin was pacing unevenly—pausing every few minutes to grab hold of something. Several times, Kano felt she was sure the whole boat was going to tip over and plunge sideways. Takato found a stable spot in the corner when a huge crash of thunder bellowed loudly in the sky.

Saru-Shin couldn't take it any longer. "I'm going above deck," he said.

His brother looked up, "Houda did say for us to—"

"I know, I know," Saru turned.

"Then I'm coming with you." Coushander said.

"Fine—The rest of you stay here. It's dangerous enough as it is," As if on cue, thunder rolled again, and the ship, for an awful instant, swung vehemently to the right.

"Come on," Saru said.

Above deck, it took less than a minute for their clothes to be nearly soaked through. Nothing could be seen past the rails of the ship. A fog of rain choked the view, and lightning was flashing in random patterns in the veil. Saru-Shin went right, and Coushander went left.

The top deck was slick like a thin film of black ice had glazed it. Amidst the shouts and the steady pounding of the rain, Coushander saw a man lying on the deck—it was Hattori. Quickly, he ran up to him; the young man groaned and sat up. He was bleeding on his brow, and he had a twisted ankle. The shinobi looked up as someone approached them, and he saw it was Kano.

"I can help you," she said calmly, looking at the young ship hand.

He nodded, and she used her chakra to heal him.

Coushander looked out over the rail and saw lightning—but he blinked twice as he thought he saw something else appear in the distance: land. He could tell it was because it was a different color blue, like a stack of green-sleeved books through a mist. Lightning continued to flash the water, already wild with the wind. He looked around, but he couldn't see Saru anywhere. Coushander turned back to Hattori, "You should move below deck, you might have had—"

"No," he shook his head ,and with the girl's help, he rose and pointed. "We're here. It'll be all right."

When Coushander looked again, he realized the rocking of the ship had lessened, along with the rain. He guessed they could not have been more than five miles off the coast now, though it seemed like more because of the mist. "…Will we make it?" Kano asked hesitantly.

"We will," Hattori nodded semi-confidently. The lightning flashed behind the boat, but the thunder still roared. "We have to."

Coushander and Kano kept staring—he could just make out the coastline now. Trees—just like Konoha. They were still a muted turquoise through the wash of rain. A village. Brown dots or rock and coast and homes. Lights. A faint yellow hue glowed within them.

The ship rocked to the port unsteadily. The rain was lessening, but another bolt of lightning threatened the sky with a perfectly white flash. The _Notsuhodo_ swung again from the waves, sending foam up against the squeaking hull. The trio had to grip the edge from impact. The boat inched closer and closer at an agonizing pace. The lightning flashed more behind them now, leaving the thunder, the wind, and the misty rain.

Tuned to the sound, Coushander had been unaware of the people that had come to join them. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kano spin around, and there was Dalzen and Takato behind her.

Coushander looked ahead to the coast a third time and he saw the port; breathing a small sigh of relief and anxiety. Behind him, Hattori sprung into action.

The five shinobi assisted the crewman, and with the kind of miracle that was one of Biblical proportions, the Notsuhodo both crawled and tossed it's way to the dock with a release of creaking noises liked winded sighs of it's own relief. An anchor dropped, and the shinobi paused to stare quizzically at the wharf that closely mirrored the one they'd left.

Thoroughly wet and soaking, Saru-Shin walked up behind his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "So, what do you think?"

"It…It looks the same," he said slowly, subconsciously searching for any kind of difference in the land, but there was none. Comparably, it was the same as when they had left the land of waves, just outside Konoha.

Saru smiled. "So foul a sky…clears not without a storm."

"…I guess," Coushander looked at him, and saw he was smiling in his usual mischievous and easy way. Kousa rolled his eyes and suddenly felt a terrible foreshadow in his ani's words.

.


	12. It's Just the Night

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 12  
_**It's Just the Night**_

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Sakumo was smiling.

No one could see, but Dalzen could tell—which he chose not to. And even though the captain's age was indifferent to curious, intrigued stares like that, Dalzen humored him (and himself) by giving in just to force his protégé to talk. "Sakumo," he said without looking up, "I know you're staring at me."

Sakumo looked down. "…I'm sorry…" was all he could get out before his smile grew wider, inflecting his voice. His understanding of his captain had in a single day, attached with images of a younger, growling, uncommunicative dog his father had witnessed some thirty years ago. Sakumo's father had witnessed many things.

His teenage boy had not understood why a word or name like 'shinobi' drove him so much, but Sakumo was in the process of finding out why. Coushander didn't have much time left, and what little he had, he wanted to make amends. But the story he was telling included Dalzen, to Sakumo's surprise, and he just couldn't help but smile.

"Sakumo," said Dalzen. "Pass me those maps."

Sakumo did so, and Dalzen shuffled them in order. With a final tap, he set them down, and Sakumo was in his view. Dalzen looked at him square in the eyes—his already intensive look all the more boring.

"…I didn't say anything!" Sakumo said defensively.

Dalzen grinned. "We had a good wind," he said suddenly.

"…Huh?"

"Oh nothing."

"I'm going to get that a lot, aren't I…?" Sakumo asked pointedly.

Dalzen smiled. "There's a million other things I could tell you, but my version of events aren't really that important right now," he said. "What's important is that you hear your father out. I respected him very much; and this…is a hard thing for him."

Sakumo lowered his gaze, and a frown invaded him as he remembered his father saying he didn't have much time left. He was dying of lung cancer; something Sakumo had not known, nor could he fathom. The teen was quiet.

Sensing his mind was elsewhere, Dalzen looked at him sympathetically. "Cheer up," he said. "See these pages? They're made of paper. We can rip them when we're done."

Sakumo brightened. "…Seriously?"

"Well…not exactly. We could probably rip the smaller ones."

Together, they laughed.

.

Kosaka stared back at a crazy man. He'd done so, so many times before, but this time was different. His heart beat on before he found his voice; the note he'd been given felt numb in his hands like a feather. "But…" he croaked, "I _can't_…"

"What, you'll peek?" Coushander grinned at him.

"That, and…" but Kosaka could not bring himself to say it.

"Yes?"

"Oh," he flailed, "I can't. Read it…after you…_die…?_ Coushander—"

"Just think, if you do read it before, I still won't know about it."

"But this doesn't make any _sense,"_ Kosaka objected.

"Dying and death usually don't."

"Oh horsehocky—this isn't supposed to happen!" he blurted. "It _shouldn't_ happen…not this way."

"How would you have it end?"

Kosaka fidgeted, considering. "I…I don't know!" he said in frustration. "Just not like _this!"_

Coushander smiled at him warmly. "I'll miss you too."

_"Gaah!!!"_ his friend exclaimed. "_How_ can you…! _You!_ How can you be like _that?!_ How can you be…so…accepting?!"

"I'm not, I never was," he said seriously. "I've just had to cope," he coughed, "And I didn't do a good job of that, either."

"But—you're so brave about this, I mean, Coushander…" After fruitless tries, Kosaka gave up on searching for the right words—lucky Coushander had them:

"Give Gosen a hard time for me, eh?"

Coushander smiled, but his friend was quiet and frowned, silently nodding his head. "You can tell him I'm still not selling," he added lightly.

Kosaka's eyes lowered as they exchanged a wordless goodbye; his old friend had left him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and folded note in his right hand. Kosaka held it up and turned it over, and saw the hazy grey shadow of black ink inside the folded walls. He sighed, thinking about when he was told to read it, and wondering if he could honor that promise.

.

Sakumo was anxious.

Color came to his cheeks, and it was evident as the cloth over his face was now around his neck. Thoughts and internal questions had been nagging him as to why the eldest had dropped the nightshade that guarded him since Sakumo could first remember. The teen hadn't realized how much he'd grown to depend on it, but now the question reversed to that of his four year old self, talking in his little brother's voice: "Why?" _To hide the fact we were brothers_, remembered Sakumo from the previous night. Of course, that was the original reason he'd been told.

It was privacy, and it was manipulation, and his father had lived that way for so long—losing both left Sakumo confused. But, he had not known it had stemmed from shinobi roots. It made sense, and at the same time, it was still hard for him to understand.

A creeping thought suddenly made Sakumo smile: _Captain Dalzen was no help…_Ripping paper didn't help relieve tension. Throwing it out the window might have helped though.

Sakumo saw his father sitting on the back porch, and he joined him like the previous night, darting his gaze in failed courage and apprehension.

Though Coushander sensed this, he smiled faintly as he left his boy had eased to him...in quite an open display. But Coushander too was silent, unsure of where to pick up. Sakumo fidgeted on his end. "…Otou," he suddenly blurted, using a word he still pronounced correctly. Surprised, his father looked at him, looking over his features and dark, youthful eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sakumo said. "I'm sorry…for what I said."

After a hesitation, the eldest smiled at him. "You haven't even heard the rest of my story yet."

_I know,_ Sakumo thought. _I haven't…_A small smile eased his mouth, but not his nervousness.

"You don't have anything to apologize for. It's all my fault what's come between us," he coughed. "'Shinobi' was a word I couldn't say for over twenty years. I didn't…I had a grudge, I think—maybe a bad one, and I could never admit it or get over it," Coushander remembered his conversation with Kosaka. "That mission to Kiri…I forced myself to forget it, which wasn't very wise. I just didn't want you to go through what I did. I tried to dissuade you so much but I snapped, and I'm still sorry for that." He shook his head, forcing his mind to focus on that slighted time frame.

Slowly, Sakumo's eyes drifted towards his father.

"So…it was thirty two years ago we left Kiri…or rather, 'that island'," He shook his had one more time, finding his narrative difficult. "I wish I could tell you about that certain individual…" he thought for a moment. "But…we found many allies there. Saru had a few connections, and we soon added a few more, but Saru…the covert mission Shodai had given him, distracted him—he tried to take it on by himself," _Lunatic._ "For a while, he kept the four of us out if his solo inquiries and such, and, of course," Coushander smiled, "Dalzen was first to notice. He certainly had an eye for things. So my brother filled us in on other certain…individuals causing trouble. Though we still did not know the mastermind. We didn't know him—there, I've said him—until Saru and I nearly got ourselves killed on a mountainside. It was lucky that Dalzen had a 'feeling'. We were shock he had one…" his father grinned. "Afterwards, we forced Saru to tell us just who we were chasing, and he told us.

"He was a renegade—yes, that's what he was. Of Konoha origin. That's what made it covert. He'd gone to Kiri to instill anti-Konoha views, and there was no doubt his grander plan was to oppose Shodai himself. Saru had been ordered…quite unofficially to take him out, by any means necessary. From there on out…it only got harder, as we knew we were dealing with skilled, and very subversive people. I remember…I remembered thinking we were such a rag-tag team, I doubt whether or not we could really pull it off. Dalzen and Saru were constantly at odds with each other—like oil and water. Kano was feeling her limits six months in—Takato…he settled in a bit, but he was far more comfortable with orders than taking charge; and me…" he inclined his head. "I kept trying to sedate my brother's attitude and ideas just so Dalzen wouldn't wring his neck."

Coushander looked at Sakumo with a sly smile, saying, "Mutiny did cross your captain's mind a couple times…" His father looked on, "I guess I can't really blame him," he coughed, "Saru…had weird ideas at weird times. It infuriated him to no ends. But…" Coushander thought. "It was just the five of us, so somewhere, deep down, we all knew we had to stick together. It just never came easy…" his father paused. "I guess nothing ever does. The only way out is through—it's the only way. There's a time we need to be a little brave," he paused again. His gaze came up to look out across the top of the wheat field, keeping still and motionless on a calm night.

Sakumo mimicked, and turned to watch the stationary yellow front, taking in all he heard in the silence. His father soon picked up again, "The end of the first year…" he said slowly, suddenly breaking into a small smile, "We were getting closer to our renegade, only two others stood in our way. These two were Kiri—having more of an advantage than any of us. Saru devised a diversion for them—a plan even Dalzen endorsed. He was our strongest link, and he was the one that was able to kill our renegade…not without almost killing himself in the process…but that's where the feud between him and my brother reached another tipping point. Dalzen wanted us to leave, as we had accomplished our secret mission—but Saru was adamant we stay.

"The two Kiri men were still alive to carry out Ra—oh excuse me," he silently apologized. "Our renegade's work, that was certain to put a young woman's life in jeopardy, not to mention ours and possibly all of Kiri.

"I did agree with my brother, even though to Dalzen's argument, it stretched the bounds of our original assignment, which it did—it was a hard decision to make. Kano was sympathetic to him, but she took Saru's side. Takato was torn as well. I think deep down, he agreed with Dalzen—I could see in his eyes he wanted to go home…but he and the woman had a slight…attachment, he was inclined to stay for a little longer.

"Dalzen was livid. He asked to be let go, but Saru, of course, was even more adamant we stay together," Coushander fell silent, smiling lightly, taking some solace he'd been able to tell that much.

Sakumo thought of his captain. He had known Dalzen for so long, he felt the memory of him shifted in his mind, adding youthful bits of terse defiance and stern logic, both things he'd always seen in his captain, but never in so wild and subversive measures. His father, too, was much younger in his mind, wearing something more shinobi-like, befitting a ninja. In his mind's eye, he pieced together the five, with Dalzen as the strong, grumpy one, and the others—a curious hazy image of his uncle, desperate to keep them together. But if they came that far, surely they pulled through—sometimes must have changed his captain's attitude—or rather, _someone_, as Sakumo remembered what his father had said the prior night. Saru had done it, somehow. Somehow. "…I had no idea," Sakumo said quietly, stealing a glance at his father.

He smiled. "We didn't have any clue either…" he said, a little forlornly. "We had relied on Dalzen's strength—and without him, we wouldn't have a chance," Coushander thought back, and shook his head. "He just couldn't see how Saru wasn't willing to have any loose ends, so to speak…" his father broke off again.

Curiosity made Sakumo stiffen in interest, "But…Saru convinced him…?"

"No, not at first. It was like we started out all over again. We lost our confidence—we wondered, the four of us, if we might catch him leave in the middle of the night, but he never did. Dalzen stayed with us, but at a distance of mind. But…about six months later…" his father's voice was softening though he smiled, "Dalzen was finally able to understand what my brother was about. I literally woke up one day, and I saw Dalzen smile," Coushander grinned. "I thought I was waking up to genjutsu."

Sakumo cocked his head in wonder. _He smiled…_he thought, venturing eagerly, "…What happened?"

"I…did a stupid thing."

"…What?"

"I got captured."

"You got captured?!" Sakumo echoed incredulously. "Oh—" he stopped himself, thinking, "Oh…" he murmured. He was quiet for his father's sake, unsure of how lightly he could continue to talk about it. "Well…it's not uncommon…" Sakumo said slowly.

"Oh no," His father smiled. "It_ was_ very stupid of me…" he admitted plainly. "But I'd do it over again for what it did for Dalzen and the others."

Sakumo's brow furrowed in amazement, wondering how such a horrible thing could have been Dalzen's catalyst. The scene waved in his mind; he hoped his father would continue.

"I nearly died—I probably did for a few seconds or something," Coushander said, looking up, briefly, to think. "It's all in a haze, but I escaped, somehow—that was the real miracle, and Dalzen was the one to find me," he paused, looked back to the field to remember all the secondhand accounts. "Well there was no medical facility, and that left Kano, but she started crying as soon as she saw me. I was dying of blood loss, and there wasn't anything she could do. I guess…everyone was ready to offer their condolences…but Saru…" Coushander shook his head, speaking slowly and concisely, "He wasn't about to give up on me. Saru…" he murmured. "Was protective of me. It would have killed him not to do anything. So he found something to siphon his own blood and he gave me a transfusion."

Sakumo started—his fingers involuntarily twitched against his still frame.

His father's brow had drawn closer, but he spoke calmly. "I think after Kano helped him set it up, she started pacing," he said, "And Dalzen was baffled—Ichida, the same…But obviously I'm still here, but—" his father paused. "Kano only told me this," he disclaimed, "It was what Saru was saying to me as this happened," he said quietly, and coughed. He waited a moment. "Pain…is like a ravine. Saru-Shin and I grew up near one. Saru was holding my hand—Kano said he kept saying I had to grip his back in order to make it out. Well…there was little hope of me continuing to breathe, let alone make a movement…" Coushander said, pausing in the silence.

Sakumo couldn't hear his own self breathe. The quiet seemed to deafen every time his father stopped.

"But…" he said, "I did."

Coushander remembered her words.

"They all saw it," he continued. "My fingers…somehow wrapped around his, and they just stood there, looking at it. Kano…she never felt anything quite like that—she said it was like the five of them tuned in to the same frequency of thought. Saru…'suppose he wasn't as surprised, he was just…moved, like the rest of them." The eldest broke one more time, forcing himself to continue. "Saru-Shin had this problem of never…never giving up on any person or situation. I suppose…in that case it was a miracle. But…he had so much hope—Dalzen came to understand that, that night, and he opened up for us," He coughed.

Slowly, Sakumo looked away, lost in the scene. Silence welled up around them, softly muting the crickets and cicadas. But the scene soon faded away and finally broke apart as he heard his father cough again. Sakumo felt another emotion rise around him with another set of troubled thoughts he forced down. The teen looked at him. "…All because you got captured…" he half-smiled.

His father smiled back. "Yes…Stupid things can end well…" he said. "'Sure didn't seem so at first though…"

Sakumo had the urge to ask him more about Saru, but he knew his father needed to rest. Sakumo formed a troubling suspicion that his uncle had met with a hard end…like one his father would soon face…Inwardly, Sakumo shook his head of the thought as the sadness returned without warning. And though it was heavy, it lessened a little as he thought of his captain, who would be waiting for him at the office the next morning.

_Captain Dalzen…_Sakumo smiled bittersweetly.

.

Kano Hoseki found him still sitting out on the porch some time after Sakumo had gone. She looked up at the stars and the sliver of the white moon in wonder. Coushander said nothing as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his hair.

Slowly, she felt his breathing become easier and more even; pain abated with her touch, but it did not go away.

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	13. The Forgotten

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 13  
_**The Forgotten**_

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Kano Hoseki found him to be quiet.

Of course it was Keiko now who did all the finding, as an alias goes, but really, she never liked her name anyway…

An hour after they made landfall, their captain Saru-Shin led them to a small village called Niimi where he had a contact. Saru possessed several maps of the area—laden with notes and dates and scribbles of paths and villages which had been corrected in part by the _Notsuhodo's_ first mate, Houda, before they left. And though Niimi had not changed, some outlaying roads had recently flooded, forcing them to take the main road. Inland, the weather was much calmer. The tall girl remembered Saru had given them only one warning when traveling on the roads and paths; "watch for snakes". And he said it in such a heavily laden way as if he'd not heeded it previously. Of course, that was not the only thing he told them.

Kano Hoseki found him to be so full of energy.

And, she thought, what better mood to be in if it was to be six months, give or take, on the island. She found it was almost inspiring had one member of their group not found it to be so annoying. The girl glanced at the Morino's profile and found it to be completely unreadable—his hair hid his face in almost the same way as Coushander's mask. Dalzen was quiet too, but in an analytical way. She looked around the group, Saru, Coushander ('Kousa'), Dalzen—the ever timid Takato, and herself, she smiled faintly, _Keiko_. They changed roads only three times, and saw the height change gradually. Green shadows, and a gentle white mist rolled along the hills and through the trees like horses cantering.  
Surrounded by mint-color hills and dark trees, Niimi was a small town in the basin of a small valley. It was midnight when they reached the outskirts of town. "You sure you know the way?" Coushander asked Saru who stopped to look at one of his maps. "Of course," he said. "That way," he pointed.

"But…Didn't we just come from that way?" Kano asked. "Mm…yes…no…_No,"_ he said more confidently. "I'm sure it's this way. Look for a light."

The five walked almost another mile in that direction, and after a bend through the trees, there was a house light on in the distance. "What did I tell you," Saru said to Coushander.

A young man opened the door, and spoke with a Honshu accent, "'Saru!" he recognized instantly. "Please—'come in," he let them inside. "Sage!" he called. _"Sage!"_

"Sage is here?" Saru asked.

The man gave a wink. "'Sage is in a bit 'ah depression."

"I am not depressed!" a man said coming around a corner; without any accent. "Who says I'm sad?!" he flailed questioningly. "Saru! It's good to see you!" he smiled, diverting the subject. "You all come from…Kushima?"

"Tsuyama," Saru corrected.

"Oh!" Sage exclaimed. He looked them over. "Then by all means, follow me."

.

"I was hoping to stay with Bear," Saru confessed again early the next morning, "But the storm delayed us."

"Well it's only natural, Nichinan is centrally located, but it doesn't have the conspicuousness of a larger city," Sage looked across the group. "The roads run north, south, east and west; I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for. There's all sorts of people going through there."

"Heheh, yeah, like Jeremiah," Jin chuckled.

"Is he still around?" Saru asked.

Jin shrugged, "'Depends," he said slowly. "'He's gone 'ah bit moody."

"Oh hush," Sage interrupted. He explained, "Jer just doesn't…enjoy company much anymore. He used to be top intelligence guru for the government—you know, the sort of person who always knew what everyone else was thinking."

"He was apt at genjutsu," Saru added. "He was a shinobi, but as a few of the clans drew truces, he went AWOL…or so I was told, and the government never saw him since."

"Or anybody 'else, for 'aht matter," remarked Jin.

"Well…" mused Sage. "Some said he was really playing both sides at once, and when Kiri was formed and the government, the daimyo, started washing their hands of their ninja, there was no middle anymore—no…_business_ for him," Sage smiled ironically. "He's been rogue now for almost a year."

"Has anyone seen him?" Saru asked.

"Well…" said Sage. "He did come to my father almost a month ago, wanting some—"

"'Sake, sakana, and saa-shimi," interjected Jin, chuckling.

Sage shot him a look. "_No,_ he wanted one of my father's remedies, oddly enough," he said. "Gentian."

Kano looked at him. "That's for...mild despondency, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. I don't know why he wanted it though."

"He's _moody,"_ Jin explained with a lop-sided grin, "I told 'yah 'afore."

Sage continued. "It's hard to say with him. He earned our trust in the past, and I'm still not inclined to discard that so easily. And that's all my father goes on. As to whether he'll help you Saru, I don't know. You'll have to find him first."

"'Ganbatte—you'll need it," smiled Jin.

"Well, Jer was associated with so many people, he can help us find someone we're interested in."

"Which is…?" Sage asked.

"Haruda."

"Haruda?!" the two exclaimed. Jin spoke, "Oh Jer's got dossiers on people, but Haruda? Don't know about that one. He's in with some real shady folks. I think he struck some kind of deal with the Kaguya clan. Theirs was only big one that hasn't signed on. I think 'ere's still in-fighting. But 'ah Kaguya are always the first ones to start 'aht kinna thing."

"Jin's right. I'm not sure if Jer would help you with that. Haruda's gathered so many acquaintances since your captain was last here. And who knows, maybe he was the reason Jer left."

"Then he'll want to get back at him," Saru smiled.

"Mm….maybe. But I don't know," Sage said. "He's been lying low for now. Even if he did like your captain, he may not want to be bothered."

"He'll like me." Saru said confidently.

Sage shrugged, "Then ganbatte, you'll need it—oh and since your heading to Nichinan, say to hi to my dad for me."

"Heehee," Jin interrupted. "And you can tell him all about 'aht young kid who beat Sage 'ere in Shou-gi."

"Somebody…beat…Sage…in Shougi?" Saru repeated incredulously.

"_'Ands_ down, 'defeated in _utter…"_

"Oh it wasn't_ that_ bad," Sage shrugged, forcing a vain smile.

Jin laughed again. "Oh _'it_ was _bad,"_ he half-whispered, winking. "Sage 'couldn't speak for two days."

Sage looked at him pragmatically, "...Which is a complete _falsehood_…" Jin looked at him squarely. "…If you only count the _waking_ hours…" Sage added self-deprecatingly.

.

In Nichinan early the next morning, a young woman answered the door—Saru immediately recognized her as Sage's younger sister, Azami. "Hello," Saru said.

She looked taken aback, "…Who…?"

"Saru-Shin!" Bear recognized him and came forward. "Saru-Shin," he said again, "What a surprise. And I see you've brought company—please, come in," he invited, shaking hands with each of them. "Byoki Kuma," he introduced himself, "But you can call me Bear. This is my daughter, Azami. I got your letter you'd be arriving at some point. So, what brings you here? Oh—let me guess—'the tales of our intrigue reach far and wide'…!"

"Tabun," Saru smiled, before explaining their mission in greater detail. Bear listened intently; and his daughter scanned the group skeptically as if assessing whether they would succeed or fail.

.

"Well," Saru told them late that evening, "I'd like to tell you about my plan, and the man named Satoshi Haruda. It was about six years I came to this isle and it was an accident we got involved with his league. I know for fact he's been involved with subversive activities against Kiri's government, and he's been in Konoha a few times with some of the Kaguya clan."

"I've heard of these Kaguya," Dalzen suddenly offered. "They're not exactly pushovers."

"I know; and it's anyone's guess as to who else is aiding him, but if we strike at the heart, all else with follow. There's a saying here, 'Claim victory in your heart, and the rest will follow.' So…here's what I was thinking: Dalzen, Takato and I will pay a visit to Jeremiah to see if he can help us—Coushander and Keiko will stay here with Bear and do recon. I figure it'll be helpful if we can have two teams, as well as moving as a whole."

Dalzen gave a quick nod, Takato followed suit, as did Kano. Coushander was the only one to voice a question, "Is there anything else about Haruda?"

"Unknown," Saru said. "I suspect he might have a close partner, but outside of that, my information is almost six years out of date."

"…What about Jeremiah?" Kano suggested. "Do you think he and Haruda have an understanding?"

"Well…if they do…I'm hoping it's a 'stay out of my way; I'll stay out of yours', sort of relationship."

"And you're guessing at that," Coushander grinned beneath his mask—it was evident in his voice.

"Yes, I am," Saru smiled. "But nothing ventured, nothing gained. If Bear has inclination to trust him, then so have I. There must be something to mark the difference of two antithetical people. Besides—Jer knew my captain, so it should be a little easier to get his assistance."

.

Bear offered that Jer had cryptically told him he was headed north. Saru took a chance and picked Miyazaki, north, north-west of Nichinan, just west of the center of the island—also colorfully renowned for the island's largest inland lake. And similar to Nichinan, roads from all directions, save the north due to the mountains, converged there.

The trio left at dawn the next morning. A patch of fog was rolling off the green hills leaving dark green shadows beneath them. And as Kano went back inside, she saw another boarder she hadn't met—he was peeping just out of the hallway with large, curious brown eyes. "Oh, hello," Kano said. "I'm Keiko—what's your name?"

But the boy was too shy to respond. Azami came up behind him, and he fell into line with her, hiding himself behind her leg. "Oh—hi," Kano said again.

"His name is Hatashi," she said curtly. "He came to us four months ago," With that, she turned the corner in the opposite direction. After a pause, the small boy followed her.

Kano wondered in her absence. Azami was almost as eerily silent as Dalzen. Kano shrugged the thought off and went to find Coushander. More or less, the two had at least a week of conducting their own investigations.

.

That night, the two shinobi made it back to Bear's house. After dinner, Bear invited her to a room on the east side, and when the door opened, the full extent of his medical practice was evident—and oddly, smelled like lavender. Kano saw the slender stalks hanging upside down in the corner, giving off the faint aroma. But stacked on the shelves were not only books, but vials—at least thirty or forty of them. Sage's quick knowledge of flower remedies had been ingrained—almost like her own. She read the first label as Agrimony, and the vials progressed alphabetically, all the way down to walnut and willow. "I'm a rather unconventional doctor," smiled Bear. "I like to think I can help treat emotional wounds, as well as the physical ones."

"It's amazing," she said after a while, looking at the herbs and dried flowers and medical instruments—there was a cart towards the wall holding various tools. "My father was a doctor, and he used some of these remedies. But he never had this many. He swore by them, actually."

"They've worked wonders so far."

She noticed the various tools on the main desk top, and saw some labeled vials she had not recognized, as they were more exotic kinds of flowers. "Do you grow all of them yourself?"

"Yes, some—what I can. I don't have much of a green thumb, though," he smiled. "Azami now takes after that, like her mother used to."

"Oh," Kano murmured. She looked back to the rows of vials and noticed one was missing. "So…Jeremiah has the Gentian?"

"Yes…" Bear said, "I just can't imagine what he'd use it for—or why. He never seemed the type to be interested in this kind of stuff, you know? And he didn't seemed visibly distressed. Jer's one of those rare people who don't really show they're age, or anything else for that matter."

"…Does he have any family? Any relatives?" Kano asked.

Bear shook his head. "Not that I know of," he smiled, "I wouldn't know if he kept a pet dog or something," Bear shrugged. "Maybe he's just gone soft, that's the only way I know how to see it."

.

Takato studied Saru's maps in the tavern, looking at all the towns and villages sprinkled around the hub that was Miyazaki. "W-Well…if he's not here…w-where could he be…?"

"I don't know," Saru shrugged. "We could try Akune," he pointed southwest, "But other than that…I'd rather through a dart on it. He could be anywhere."

"…Do you know where any of his contacts might be?" Dalzen asked flatly.

"Well—I do know he was in Satsumasendai for a while, but that's on the other side of the island," he said, pointing farther east to the edge of the island. "There's still one other person I'd like to talk to before we go."

Dalzen looked at him. "Who?"

"The owner of this inn, actually," Saru grinned. "My captain had an acquaintance with him…"

The innkeeper was able to confirm that Jer was heading 'back east'. To which town, he hadn't specified, but the shinobi picked the east coast town—just over two day's journey on foot.

So two days later, the quintet left for Satsumasendai, the city of hundreds of ferry boats and rolling hills and high cliffs, standing above the ocean. And though it was also something of a spectacle of lights and energy, the shinobi directly traveled to the less noticeable, quieter parts. So no doubt, at an inn west of the town, Saru was able to pinpoint Jer's location.

The troupe headed due north through a dark forest of pines with only the trails of animals to see. And as they walked, Takato got up the courage to say he felt a chakra presence nearby. The shinobi followed it and came to a thicker patch of wood where tall pines stood every six feet. There seemed nothing alive save a big brown owl perched comfortably on a dead branch. Dalzen took immediate notice of it, factoring it's size and possible breed. It had two round yellow eyes, like gleaming coins, and he saw it watch them progress. But a house was hidden within the forest, nearly as dark as the hazy backdrop. A single light was on from then wooden house, and the group agreed that only Saru-Shin and Dalzen meet with him.

"…I see no shinobi," a low voice answered the knocks.

"…But is there a certain kind you do not see?" Saru asked. "We are from Konoha," he said. "We need to speak with you."

There was continued silence on the other side of the door until it opened, revealing an older man, round rimmed glasses and grey hair. His black brow furrowed as he looked intensely at Saru and Dalzen. "…Fine," he said slowly, and allowed them inside.

He looked about fifty years old, and so did the small house. Old copies of books were all the trinkets he had. He let them sit in old wooden chairs while he sat in an old red arm chair beside an end table with, appropriately, an old coverless book.

"I believe you may remember my captain, Karada. My name is Saru-Shin, and this is Morino Dalzen," Saru introduced.

"…Karada," Jer recognized. "Senju Karada—of course. One can never forget a Senju," Jer suddenly looked back at Saru. "Oh…so you were the runt with him," he acknowledged. "Well, what brings you here?"

"We've come to ask you about Haruda."

"You've come_ back_ to get him," Jeremiah observed, with a faint smile that only inflected his voice, and not his face.

"Yes sir."

"How many others you got with you?"

"Three others."

"Not enough," Jer said calmly. "You want information on him? I can tell you he's got a new partner with him. A drunken bastard's what he is. The two just bought the whole marina in Yamaguchi."

"The marina?" Saru stared. "Yamaguchi…that's south of here, isn't it…?"

Jer nodded.

"Has he struck up any other partnerships?"

The older man's head curled left in a slight twitch. "Depends on how quickly you'd like to get yourself killed," he said with a small flowering smile.

"Please," Saru entreated, "Enlighten us."

"Well. I don't have a name yet, which confounds me to no end," he admitted, losing the smile. "I suspect Karada knew about him, which also confounds me. Ha. But; I have heard him only referred to as Kizuato. Word is, he is a businessman, but, I don't buy it. I've seen him, and I know a ninja when I see one. The mind," he said, "The mind never forgets. The body holds it's form in a straight, alert manner, that_ it_ never forgets either. Pale skin begets a pale and dark and furtive kind of life. It's frequent these days," he said, studying Dalzen with interest. "Oh I am sure he can take on any disguise, any other name, but when you walk like that…something's been too ingrained to reach for a kunai…or a katana. They're all madmen. And madmen," he said squarely, "Are where I stop. And thus I have."

"Madmen know nothing," Saru quoted.

"And they are also unwilling to admit to anything immutable. Thus their tales are short and quite morbid," Jer regarded him. "Still; Haruda's other partner in insanity, I mentioned, can be found in any bar or tavern or inn that has a bar soon after eight, Zerejin, he's called. Grey bicycle. Usually, it's all beat up. Buy him a drink; he'll love you forever, although I would not advise it so soon in your investigation. I know he was a grade A ninja until he went AWOL."

"Oh…just like yourself?" Saru smiled.

Jer twitched his fingers. "Now I _know_ you're your master's student. No—I think he was sent off to Aburatsu or someplace to train shinobi for the new government. Well he couldn't handle that job and so he disappeared. And so it wouldn't look bad…all the shinobi leaving Kiri's vicinity are listed as either AWOL or on assignment. And now…he works with Haruda."

"But…why would Haruda want to buy an entire marina? I had no idea he loved to fish."

Jer smiled dryly before his frown took over. "That is speculation, and mine is this, he goes island hopping to take a few of those new recruits and help them see things his way. So, he gains control over the southwestern islands to stage a coup," Jer smiled in Saru's frown. "Didn't foresee that, did you? He came to me, Haruda did, after I…made my leave," he worded, "And he asked me how I was and also…wanted the names of the leaders of prefectures, in the land of mist, and the land of fire. So you see, he's been a tyrant in the making. There have been a great many a changes since Karada was here...Have you seen Bear?" Jer suddenly asked.

"Yes—he was our first, if not second stop…" Saru looked at him. "Gentian?"

Jeremiah's eyes widened for a brief second until he regained posture and he inclined his head to the left. "Did you track me with a hound?" his solid form betrayed the light joke.

"We were about to. Can I ask what you wanted it for?" Saru pursued.

"If I told you that, they'd be one less mystery in the world, and I'd hate with all my being to be the cause of_ that_. No, I think not. Anything else young Saru?"

"Oh, sure, I think Jin misses you."

Jer rolled his eyes. "Thank you for coming…_lunatic_…"

Saru beamed.

.

The next day Saru assembled them after the previous night's divulsion, and divided them into two teams. Saru, Takato, and Coushander would take the days walk to Yamaguchi, and Dalzen and Kano would stay in Satsumasendai for reconnaissance.

But the day after, the recon mysteriously came to them. Dalzen and Kano were staying at the small inn at the edge of town and both were surprised to see the older man coming and make his offer. Jeremiah was out of the business of handing out lessons, at least, that's how he thought of it. But the old man had taken a peculiar interest in Dalzen, one which he did not come to explain. Kano noticed their dark eyes were much alike as Jer made an offer to teach Dalzen all he knew in genjutsu. Dalzen agreed, and so Kano watched them in Jer's study, surrounded by the worn spines of books as the older man began with a curious numerical question:

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

Jer regarded him for a moment. "Interesting—you look older," he said, studying him for a moment. Kano saw something almost distant through his lined eyes. "Consider the hand," he said suddenly, holding up his weather-beaten palm. "Instrument of will. Lines, creases, scars, galaxies, infinite universes…" Jer then pointed to his mind; "Instrument of telling. Speaking, thinking, analyzing, considering across vast planes of existence, of light; of stars. But as in matters of the mind, here is truly a wondrous question: which came first—the thought, or the word behind the thought? The thought cannot exist without the word, and the word cannot have meaning without a thought. So was it a word or thought that told which to do which…?"

Dalzen looked at him dubiously. "That's a pointless question," he said.

"How so?"

"Well…a thought entails a feeling, a word captures a feeling. Thus…it all starts with a feeling."

Kano blinked back between the two, then settled on her teammate. It was the first time she'd heard him say the word, and yet she still couldn't believe Dalzen had said something so fantastic. And then again, it was an unusual question.

"Never have I heard that answered…" Jer said politely, "With such…clarity," he smiled crookedly, trying to suppress anything more. "I asked you to discover your character," he continued, "And I have seen much; yet you have seen much. But; the advances of the mind are delicate. You may find things…never before imagined, supposing you can imagine it. The true meaning of thought is like an old man, who can tell you things you do not know; where, in the first place, he himself did not know. Time being circular, the irony here is that we are born with all this cursed knowledge, and we do not heed it. The young man you are contradicts him daily, so that there is always something infinitely wrong in everything you think. Old age is solace. Solace is inner peace. And inner peace is what defines you as who, and not what you are. For what you are is not near as important as _who_ you are; young or old. The old man that you may meet along the way, I am not responsible for. For he is hand in hand with one other."

"…One other?"

"Oh, you think I am going to tell you? You will see for yourself," He clapped his hands together which made Kano jump slightly. "The mind…" he began.

Jeremiah began with an analogy to imagine the mind; then would come illusion and penetration. By that part, Kano was metaphorically lost.

.

It was late before they traveled back to the tavern. Dalzen was lost in thought over his drink, and Kano was about to ask him something when a man stumbled into the bar. Both ninja thinking it might be Zerejin, stared with the rest of the few onlookers. _"Water…!" _he croaked.

The bartender fetched it for him.

"Oi—Okami," said one of the men in the bar, "Watcha doing?"

The man had fallen onto a chair before slurring with a disoriented smile across his face, "My bike—crash—mist…ha ha…"

"…Okami you nut. You gotta watch for those things They don't call this land for the mist and the fog for nothing, numbskull. Ain't you gotta flashlight?"

The bartender looked up. "Should we call a medic? I think he has a concussion."

Kano straightened in her seat, but Dalzen put a hand on her shoulder.

"He's happy, see him?" the man continued with a crooked grin. "Delirious. He's always delirious."

"He's going to sleep."

"That too. Ah, well, everybody does. Oyasuminasai, Okami," the man smiled at him. "Oyasumi…!"

.

The next night, Okami came again into the little tavern, late at night. He moved slow, but appeared to be recovered—for the most part. Kano and Dalzen had come back from Jer's in time to observe him once again. This time, he hadn't asked for water, but for sake, 'sweet and clear'. He recounted the bicycle crash in fuller animation now; also in two lines or less: "…And so I went like this," he showed with his left hand, "And he went…like…this…!" His right hand smacked his left at an odd angle. "Whamo," he appropriately said. "Big crash."

"What were you doing so late at night, Wolf? Howling at the moon, were we?"

"No…" he said haughtily; "I was looking for a rat."

"A rat?"

"Yeah. Five of 'em just moved in town."

Kano's eyes suddenly darted to Dalzen's. But his expression stayed extraordinarily calm, encouraging hers to do the same. She drank her water and bit her lip, forcing her eyes to stay on the rim.

And_ this_ wolf," he continued, increasingly slurry. "Is gonna find 'em."

"Sato really can't trust you with anything, can he?" The man playfully bopped him on the head.

_"Ow!!"_ Okami cried. "Ow! Damn you, Daiji…!"He cradled his head in his hands.

"Well? He prompted. "You haven't found them, have you?"

"No…"

"Well, then, point taken! You should leave it to me, I could do it."

"Sure you could…so long as they were two feet in front of your nose."

"Or_ your_ bicycle," the man shot back.

"Oh shuttup…No one asked you…"

.

"Should we really go back there?" Kano questioned the next night.

"Of course we should. If we suddenly stopped, they'd know."

"But do they already know?!"

"No," Dalzen said. "It didn't sound like it."

"…That stuff really unnerves me…" she said quietly.

"Then maybe you could also benefit from Jeremiah's training."

"I try to listen—I do; but it's so…intense. You've got to be a genius to keep up with it," Her inadvertent compliment didn't seem to affect him in the slightest; nor did he respond to it. "Well…" she diverted awkwardly. I hope the others are having some luck. I guess we found our end…" she said dimly.

But when they returned, 'Okami' did not make attendance. Daiji offered to the bartender that, presumably, he was scouring the city for rats.

.

It was similar to a shamisen, only the base was rounder, and it had six long strings. A petite woman was singing in it's accompaniment as she picked the instrument—lyrics that made Coushander look twice as it was a tune similar to one he'd heard someone sing before.

"My bonnie lies over the ocean, my bonnie lies over the sea,  
"My bonnie lies over the ocean, oh bring back my bonnie to me,  
"Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my bonnie to me, to me—  
"Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my bonnie to me…"

"Coushander," Saru said suddenly.

He looked up as Saru rarely said his full name.

"Would you step outside? I just want to see if anyone will follow."

Kousa grinned. "Oh that's funny…"

"We'll meet you out there."

"Ok," Coushander walked out of the inn, but no one cared to follow.

Instantly, Saru dug out the slim journal and wrote briefly:

_16__th__ evening; Suiyoubi. Windy, cool. No luck in Ya. _Saru thought aloud, "I think we better head back to the others and see if they've found anything."

Takato nodded, and regarded the woman as they left.

.

Kano made a good effort to listen as Jeremiah continued teaching Dalzen advanced genjutsu. A good level of stoicism emanated from the studies she took to heart as something that would help her not show so much worry over plans to exterminate the various breeds of rats throughout the land of mist and fog. Jeremiah seemed naturally level-headed, as did Dalzen; in a similar way—in addition to possessing a great amount of talent. And, she admitted such dispositions could lend itself more readily than any flower remedy. So, she began comparing Dalzen's strength with her own, and thusly wondered how she could have been chosen for this group, and more so—why she even accepted. Surely their captain could have picked more professional people…?

"A reverse genjutsu! Yes! That's it!"

Kano blinked and looked to the centre of the room where, predictably, the two men were standing perfectly still. For a split second, she wanted to roll her eyes, but she refrained and focused on what they were doing.

"It's always something subtle," Jer continued, placing a hand on the back of the chair beside him. "An object, a tree, the ground—the sand, the water; a person. Anything ordinary—yes."

"But…is it possible to go any further? Have an illusion in that illusion."

"Oh no," he said. "No…I suspect not even…an Uchiha could go that deep."

"…An Uchiha?" Dalzen inquired suspiciously.

"Yes," said Jer. "As a general rule," he studied Dalzen's questioning eyes. "The truly fearsome of the countries…the black and red eyes. I remember the crusades they led—and won. And might I remind you, the people of this country are not limited to it's borders."

Dalzen kept silent.

"But! I digress. And," he said, feeling the lesson was over. "I will leave you with this. 'What a piece of work…is man.' How noble in stature—how infinite in faculties…'The paragon of animals.'

"The paragon of animals," he said again. "So yes it is always something subtle that acts as those triggers. When we _see_ death, we perceive despair, but when Daniels sees a lion, I am sure _he_ perceives his faith. It's all a matter of perspective. Go now; and rest."

.

_19__th__ day, Doyoubi; back in Satsu. Breezy; 62°. Z frequents, though still no sign of H or R. Takato and I have taken up the inn to gather more informatn. J. has graciously let D and co stay with him. Suspct he's taken to Dal—suspct Dal might remind him of his son. Worries me nothing yet on R—it's early yet, suppose. Oyasumi._

.

_20__th__ night; Nichiyoubi, from Jer's study. Dalzen is progrssing with genjutsu. 'Wolf' came back to the tavern tonight—Kei, Dal; and Kousa present, took some interest in Kou apparently. Suspct if he saw me, he might recognize me(?). So; we've set a little plan in motion. I'm bait. :]_

.

Ichida Takato kept alert. "…Do you sense him yet?" Coushander asked.

"No—not yet…" he answered shyly. "No one b-besides Saru…"

Keiko wondered, "Well…this is his time…hope he's not on a bicycle…"

"…A bicycle?" Coushander asked.

"You remember the signal if something happens," Dalzen reminded gruffly.

Takato straightened. "I—I sense him now…He's, he's coming…"

Minutes later, Okami Zerejin sauntered into the tavern "Now where's Dai…" he trailed off as he looked across the few boarders consuming the late night to the quartet in the back sitting around a table. He left the man behind the counter for the odd-looking group of people; Okami decided to introduce himself. "Hey there strangers…" he smiled crookedly, looking between Coushander and Dalzen. "Where you all from?"

"Kushima," Dalzen answered curtly.

"…Kushima?" Okami took more interest, "The sweet old port o' Kushima? That's a long ways from here. You _all _from there?"

"Yes," Coushander answered. "Where would you think we were from?"

Okami eyed him suspiciously, his smile dropping. "Well, we get tourists from the land of fire now and then…You know anything about that?"

"If you're asking about water country's rat problem," Coushander continued, "We wouldn't know anything about it."

Okami stared blankly at the troupe; landing back on Coushander. "Well you're as rude as a _monkey_…What's your name," he asked flatly, "I didn't quite get it."

"I am Kousaku. I'm sponsoring their journey. They're actors—don't they look it? Best ones in the business."

"Really…" Okami looked at them, unwilling to let him go so easily. "So you've never heard of a man named Saru-Shin?"

"…Saru-Shin?" Coushander smiled genuinely beneath his mask. "Is that really a name?"

"It is," Okami stared at him. "They call me Wolf for Christ's sake."

"Do they?" Kousa asked. "How strange," he looked at Keiko, improvising, "We call her Mercy," he nodded at Dalzen and Takato respectively, "He's Hangnail, and he's Crane," Kousa looked up at him. "Stage names. Aren't they wonderful? Now I bet you don't feel so bad, now do you?"

"…Yeah…" Okami said angrily. "Well get ready for a script change you sorry kids. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

"Perhaps," Dalzen said. "But such words are too brave for one man speaking to four."

"Well…I'll gladly take this conversation outside…mister Hangnail."

"Good idea," Coushander agreed. The four stood. "Please," Kousa offered, "After you."

Cautiously, the party exited the tavern. Okami smiled as he saw nothing suspicious out in the open of the blue night. He was about to call on Kousaku as Saru until he heard behind him, "You were saying."

Okami spun behind and tensed as the others merely looked on with him. "Who—" but he recognized, "…_Monkey;_ so it's you," he said. "What a nice little double you had in there. In fact I was just telling your kids here they don't know what you've gotten them into. It's a damn muddy mess, Saru," he seethed as a warning. "You shouldn't be here."

"As the doll said before it shot the tranq. Yes I've heard it before. We have every reason to be here considering what your friend's been up to. Mind telling me where his passport's been these days?"

Okami shortly laughed as he looked at them, and then back to Saru. "This is only a grudge fest to avenge your captain's death. Haruda told me. What happens here is none of your concern. You going to let me go, or what?"

"Depends," Saru shrugged. "If you told us what we want to know, you can go back in that tavern and buy yourself a drink."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then that substitution juutsu you just used right now is going to come undone."

Okami smiled. "You're a strange one, Monkey. Didn't your teacher tell you not to be so overconfident? Then again, that's what he died of, wasn't it? Yes, I see you've got the arrogance of your captain, and the heart of a clown. It spells disaster."

"…The wolf," Saru retuned calmly. "Cold and cunning…but so very smug. You may act like a fox, but you're not as dumb as one. A member of my team as just pinpointed where you are hiding. And you know Okami…monkeys are better tree climbers."

Okami gave him a stern glance, knowing he had no choice but to run. Quickly, he pulled out a smoke bomb and detonated it, but Saru's clone in the forest was not fast enough to get him in the trees, the real Okami had dropped another one, and Saru could not see through the smoke and the mist. Saru rejoined the group and looked at Takato. "You know which way he went?"

"S-South, I think," he answered.

"Damn—I knew it; he's headed for Yamaguchi."

"Haruda must be there, then," Kousa said.

"He may not be for long," said Dalzen. "Once the word gets to him."

"So do we go after him?" Kano asked.

"No," Saru said. "But we won't stay here, either."

Dalzen looked at him. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Not here," Saru said, "We can go back to Jer's, and then leave in the morning."

Coming back through the forest, Dalzen saw the owl again at it's familiar spot on the woods. The shining yellow eyes made him remember something. "…Hangnail?" he questioned to Coushander. Kousa looked up at him and shrugged smally, smiling furtively, "You're quiet…but we like you."

.

That night, after recalling the events, Saru said to Jeremiah, "You could be in danger now."

The words didn't seem to slight him. "I have always been in danger," Jer smiled. "I won't be going anywhere," he said firmly. "I actually doubt they'll act quickly. And last I checked, I was not one of their targets. Still, if they do try, I am well prepared. I would only wish good luck to you."

.

_22__nd__ night, Kayoubi. Split up into two teams—me, Dal, & Taka, SSE; Kou and Kei NNE. K & K will do recon,, while we'll be watching for Haru and continuing inquiries. Agred. to meet back in Satsu in 14 days._

.

_23__rd__ night, Suiyou. Nothing to report. Full moon, quite beautiful. Clr sky, slight breeze._

.

_26__th__ night, Doyou. Dal did an (intimidatingly) good job interrogating a certain individ.; said he saw Haru on the dock six months ago. Have to be careful whom we meet. I've told them this. So far, no one's come to look out of place, then again, we don't know the familiar faces. Hope Kou & Kei are all right. We meet back in 10 days, unless otherwise._

.

Kano pulled the hood she had around her tightly. The hill was steep and wooded and cold. "I hate to say this…" she said hesitantly. "Be we've already passed that tree."

"We have not," Kousa defied instantly. "I mean…" He looked at the compass again. "We've been following north since we started out from that village."

She peered over his hand to see. "Then why's the needle off?"

"I don't know."

"Is it supposed to be off?"

"I don't know," Coushander swiveled the compass around three-hundred and sixty degrees. The need moved and settled due north as it was pointed east. "That can't be right," He looked up to the clear full moon through the trees. "North is right where we're following…The forest looks different at night, that's all. It's just playing tricks on you."

"Oh so now you're blaming it on the forest," she smiled.

Coushander turned in all directions, watching the needle spin and twitch on the cylinder. "…Maybe it's broken," she suggested. "Or maybe…we're close to an electro-magnetic field."

He looked at her quizzically.

"You know, like the triangle in whirlpool country; it's a magnetic field that gets boats lost. They throw compasses off…not to mention the whirlpools."

"Somehow…I don't think…"

"Or it could be beryllium," she suggested. "I've heard that stuff throws things off too.'

"...You've _heard?_ Well where in the world did you hear all that?"

"Oh…" she flushed, "My father was a doctor, and he used to tell me his…adventures in finding shinobi to treat them. He was combat medic for a little while in the west daimyo's regiment. They found beryllium crystals, which had thrown all their instruments off since it created a magnetic field."

"…Really?" Coushander looked astonished. "I didn't know that. Feel free to tell me any other random things you know," She smiled. "Either way," he continued, "I say we keep going."

"Fine," she agreed, "But if we pass something again, we're stopping to ask directions."

.

_27__th__ night, drizzle rain. (quite depressing—some patchy fog). (Nichiyoubi). 'Getting Through Sunday Somehow' is quite adequate. Nothing new/significant to report. Can't see the moon tonight. Takato—'Crane' (ha ha) sense nothing. Quite odd._

.

"Oh…" she stopped.

It was a cold rain coming through the trees, and she was stopped, staring down at a puddle on the ground, being steadily plunked by the rain coming off the peacock-green leaves. "What—What is it?" Coushander asked her. "Drop something?"

"Look."

He looked and then he saw, at the edge of the puddle, was the smallest turtle he'd ever seen in his life. Able to fit well on his compass, it was moving ever so slowly along the edge straight up the path in their direction.

"…That's strange…" Coushander said, kneeling to observe it. "I wonder where he came from."

"Maybe…" but Kano couldn't think of a sensible reason. "Maybe he's lost like we are."

"We aren't lost," Kousa looked up at her. "I found the last town well enough."

"That's what you said the last time," she returned, "Only because you thought the lights through the trees couldn't possibly be moonlight."

He rolled his eyes and stood. "…Let's go." She hesitated, watching the little green-brown creature move a distance under a millimeter. "It's a turtle," he said to her. "Leave it be."

"I guess…" she inwardly sighed.

"We'll be long gone, and I'm sure turtles can't have far to go—especially in the rain."

"Yeah…" she said. "Ok, lead the way—I hope we find someplace soon," she adjusted her hood. "I didn't bring an umbrella…I guess I should have."

.

_29__th__ night, foggy, misty; extremely depressing. Forecast says it's supposed to clear tomorrow. Got an almanac to prove it. Getsuyoubi. No new leads today. Damn strange. I've had to make extra inquiries to a few innkeepers—the last one didn't want to talk of any ninja. 7 days to meet back._

.

_30__th__ night, bright and clear and blue! (Day-wise, Kayou). (All except for Dalzen of course.) Sliver of a moon tonight. Takato sensed a low chakra level; we tracked it to an inn on the far south side, and here, we secretly observd 'Daiji'. Seemd to converse about local leaders. Sounded like the ones w/prejudice against certain native clans._

.

_31__st__ night; month spent. Sui. Clear. Breeze off the bay, chilly. Heard news about a large merchant vessel coming from Masuda—straight south along the island 'neath Yama. Probably equal carry for Yamaguchi and Satsu. Daiji no-show; nothing else to report. Hope Kou and Kei are all right. Only 5 days to meet back._

.

Coming back from the further northern villages, she stopped.

"What is it?" He turned and saw she was staring at the ground. "…What…?" he said again as he looked and saw a small turtle on the path, walking with them, almost one millimeter at a time.

"That's the second time we've seen him."

"Are you sure it's the same one?" he asked incredulously.

She knelt down as it kept crawling at it's limited pace. "I know it is," she said. "It has to be…What does your compass read?"

He retrieved it from his pocket and his jaw unhinged; "Oh that's not right…" he said gallingly. "It was working fine in town," He swiveled the device around and looked to his left.

A man stood at the tree line.

"Keiko!"

She looked with him and gasped. She moved back with Coushander. The man was chalk white, like a ghost, white hair and robe, with the only thing to color him a person being a red sash around his waist and colorful beads hanging about his ear and hair. There was also a white shirasaya hanging by his side.

"Who are you?" Kousa asked.

The man regarded him. "My name is Kamenosuke."

The two shinobi exchanged quick glances, but the young man continued stoically, "I have seen you enter my forest," he said calmly. "Who are you?"

Coushander proceeded with caution. "I am Kousaku, and this is Keiko. We're travelers. We're only passing though."

"I have heard," he said curiously, "that you are also a fine sponsor; she is an actor, isn't she?"

Coushander visibly tensed. "…Who did you hear that from?"

"Razumo," Kamenosuke answered calmly.

"…Who's he?" Kousa asked, but the man was silent, observing them. "Who is Razumo?" Kousa repeated. "Does he work for Haruda?"

A smile broke the man's molded face. "Your hair…is almost the color of mine…But you are very green."

Coushander stared at him steadily. The man looked down, and the two ninja saw the turtle had moved next to his sandals. "It's quite lucky, I suppose…" the man admitted; his smile faded. "I was in the area, and this little one found your trail."

"How could it do that?" Kano asked, keeping the nervousness out of her voice.

"Because it is a he, and his _name_ is Daigoro, the fifth son of the great Hoshu Kame. A summon is a powerful creature; Daigoro can get around quite easily," Kamenosuke paused for a moment. "Would you care to test the power of a summon?"

Coushander stared at him. "I'd rather leave here without a fight," he said candidly.

"Would you? Then I am curious to know why you carry a katana."

"For protection," Kano interjected; she ignored Coushander's look. "And like he said, we'd rather be on our way without a fight."

"But I cannot—I _should_ not allow you to leave. I have orders."

"And whose orders are those?" Coushander asked, already sensing the answer.

"The one you seek," the man replied. He drew the shirasaya from the sash, only he did not draw the blade—he held it like a stick. Kousa looked at it curiously, as he could see no line of the hilt. The shinobi reached for his, but he did not draw it. He held out his hand to Kano to stay back.

"I wonder which will be sharper…" the man idly wondered, "My blade or yours."

"You haven't drawn your blade," Coushander refuted.

"Oh yes I have. This is my blade."

Kousa stared as if he'd spoken another language. Kamenosuke advanced in his pause.

Coushander moved forward to deflect the attack. Kamenosuke matched all of his movements at Coushander's own speed. Kano watched the two move slowly as she backed off, her hand moving to a kunai in her back pocket. She listened to the strange 'tak' that resonated whenever the katana blade hit the shirasaya. Coushander retreated a few yards distance, staring on in confusion of the other man's sword. "What the hell is that made of?"

"It is made of bone," Kamenosuke answered. "It was from my leg. I liked it so well I kept it."

"…That's…not possible…" she heard Kousa say. "It was…from what?!"

"I see you have never met one of my clan. Allow me to enlighten you," He lifted the sleeve off his right shoulder, where there was a scar opening on this skin. His whole humorous protruded from the opening and he took it, as if it were a club. The skin closed behind it and with chakra, the bone lengthened and sharpened.

Coushander stared in disbelief. He was frozen to the ground until Kano called his name to wake him up as the man advanced to attack. But just as he swung, a bird screeched loudly from above the two men. The bird—an owl dived at Kamenosuke and he quickly reversed and withdrew. The owl flew up on a branch somewhere above Coushander's head. The man returned the long bone and the shorter one to his side and made a sign with his hands. "We will meet again," he said cryptically and with that, he faded into nothing, leaving nothing where he stood. The turtle, Daigoro, was gone.

The owl flew off; a feather dropped from it's perch at the shinobi's feet as Kano ran up to him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah…" He looked down at the brown feather. "…So…that guy…whoever the hell he is…" Kousa shook his head, looking at her. "He is in a whole other league. How the fuck did he do that?!"

She shrugged. "You've heard about _kekkei-genkai's…_"

"…Ok, sure, but this blows them all out of the water…considering we're _surrounded_ by water…" he muttered ironically. He shook his head, his mind was still trying to process the grotesque sight. "How could I take down someone like that," he wondered aloud. "How could any of us?"

"Well you did have me," she glared. "I might as well go ahead and ask this; why the heck is it you men don't want us women to fight along side you?"

"Well I thought I could handle it by myself…" he considered. "And tradition, I suppose," He sighed, returning his katana to it's sheath. He picked up the feather and examined it. "So…we met a turtle…" he recalled.

"Daigoro," Kano supplied.

"Whatever; and he turned out to be with the enemy…and then…an owl shows up…and disappears; I don't know, making him nervous or something…Is there something we should know about this island? I mean, maybe there's some handbook or a field guide to water country's helpful woodland creatures."

"I've heard dolphins are friendly."

"We'll have to tell Saru to enlist some," he said, shaking his head. "We should get going in case he changes his mind and comes back. Who knows where that owl went."

She smiled. "We should thank it."

He laughed curtly. "Yeah…" He passed her the feather, and she put it in her pack.

.

_33__rd__ night. Kinyou. Breezy. Daiji was back at the inn. Taka and Dal said he didn't stay long—seemed to recognize Dal. Three days. No ship yet. Found some of the dock hands to be quite young—as if new staff._

.

_34__th__ night. Doyou. A little calm. Found water clerk is an older man—perhaps Jer's age. Younger hands call him Cornelius. Two days. We head back in the morning._

.

He was looking at the small, round device. "You'd think by now, I shouldn't bother."

She rolled her eyes and clarified; "We _are_ going the right way, aren't we?"

He continued looking at it.

"Oh come on…all of water country can't be one big electro-magnetic field…" His eyes looked somber. "…Can it?" she wondered uncertainly, then dissuaded; "No…that's just not possible."

He grinned furtively. "I'm starting to expect anything and everything—I think we're going to have to if we want to survive here. I mean," they continued walking. "How many clans base out of water country?" he wondered. "How many are gathered in Kiri? How many are still rogue?"

"Well…even the most…radical clans…can accept alliances."

"Yeah…" he smiled. "I'd rather face an Uchiha or Senju than that…turtle man."

She couldn't help but smile. "Well careful what you wish for. You did say to expect anything."

"Yeah…but I was thinking more along the lines of running into wild badgers that can talk and tell us the weather or something…" The needle stopped spinning and pointed backwards. "Oh nice," he said, smiling. He returned it to his pocket.

"I bet it's the field. It explains my paranoia."

"_You're_ paranoia? I look at animals now and I _have_ to wonder…" he joked.

She smiled again; moving her gaze to the horizon. "Oh that's familiar! Look!" she pointed.

A sign hung on a post in the distance where there appeared a road running perpendicular to theirs. It listed the directions of three towns, including Satsumasendai. "If men don't take directions…" Kano suddenly thought aloud. "Why does he invent signs that give them?"

Coushander looked at her awkwardly and considered. "Well since you're so fond of taking them…We might do it as a courtesy to the people of _your_ gender."

"Oh…well…thanks; I think."

"It's this way," he pointed obviously.

She bit back a laugh as they walked on.

.

"He's Kaguya," Dalzen said.

"A what?" Coushander said.

"The Kaguya. I've heard it's their bloodline trait to…use their bones. The battlefield is their way of life."

"_'Use'_ is a more than adequate word," Kousa muttered darkly.

"Did he say anything?"

Kousa looked at Kano. "He called me green—The forest we were walking though belonged to him, apparently, and he didn't want to let us go. He had orders."

"He seemed to know who were," Kano picked up. "And who Coushander said he was when we talked to Okami."

"That's right—when we were in the tavern, I said to Okami I was a sponsor…so he must have got that from him—"

"No…he said he heard it from somebody else, remember? Started with a Ra…something…"

"Oh, right, I asked him, Ra…'Razumo'; that was it."

"Razumo?!" Saru stared. He quickly demurred his tone. "Did he say who he was?"

"No, but I imagine he must work for Haruda as well," Kousa suggested.

"…Anything else?"

"Yeah it was strange—with his turtle. Daigoro. But the owl…"

"The owl?" Dalzen inquired.

"Yeah—it kind of…rescued us," Kano said. "It came out of nowhere and screeched and broke up the fight. Kamenosuke didn't seem to like it there," she pulled out the feather from her pack and laid it on the ground.

Dalzen picked it up and examined it.

"You know it?" Saru asked.

"There is always an owl that I have seen that is perched in the woods around Jer's house. I didn't know if you noticed. It might have been his owl."

"…Well…" Saru smiled. "We could assume…Jer was watching over you two."

"That's encouraging," Kousa said. "Weird, but encouraging. Oh—and I was going to suggest to you that we might enlist the help of other friendly woodland creatures water country has to offer. Like…possums; or dolphins. Everybody else seems to have them. I mean if a baby turtle can track us…we're in deep…"

Saru grinned, interrupting. "Now Kousa…"

"I'm serious!"

"I have my toad summons," Saru said. "Maybe they're worth a try in tracking him."

"Should we?" Dalzen questioned.

"He's one more person associated to Haruda. And if he's Kaguya…he'll be working very closely with the main tier. I don't think we'll find Haruda all together. I think we should split up again. You and Kousa could head further up north."

"Makes sense," Coushander offered. Beside him, Kano nodded and Takato inclined his head.

"Kousa and I could head up there again," Kano suggested. "I have summons that my father gave me; I think they could do some good."

"All right…but remember, if you two get in a fix…there's ways to contact us. And…it may be necessary to alter your appearance. And don't forget," he looked around the group. "We have friends in Nichinan and Niimi."

"So where and when will we meet back?" Dalzen asked.

Saru considered. "How about another fourteen days—Okami seems to have moved out of Satsu for the time being, so I'd be inclined to meet back here."

Coushander nodded, as did the rest of the team.

.

_36__th__ night. Getsu. 'Kaguya Kamenosuke' was acting on orders from Razumo. Seems like he recruited him to take us out. Kou and Kei encountered him on their trek. Had help from a friendly neighbourhood owl that made Kamnosuke go. Did not appreciate Jer's intervention, apparently. Dal identified the owl as Jer's. Kou and Kei are heading back north, we'll cont. down south. R must be around somewhere, he could not have gone back to Kono. H must be around somewhre as well. It's a small enough island. Big, but small. Meet back in fourteen days from tomorrow. I'm convincd they're south. Mercenaries may be coming down from the north. Hope Kou and Kei avoid them. Should have had a sixth member…A friendly neighbourhood creature…?_

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_37__th__ night, Kayou. (Belated) Came back to Yama. Takato sensed a high chakra level upon entering the town, pinpointed it to Zerejin…whom we obsrved furtively extremely drunk. The ship came in with copious amonts of liquor (and other, nicer things). Taka also sensd somthing else; we're tracking it, could be Haru._

.

_38__th__ night, Suiyou. (Belated). Tracked the level to an inn in a northern village between Satsu. and Yama. Turned out to be a woman—a girl, perhaps Kei's age? 15-16? A singer; small girl. She recognized Takato and myself, and she pulled us aside quite solemnly. Asked if we were looking for Haruda, said yes, asked if we'll keep her secret, said yes, revealed she is Naoko Haruda, his sister. Unknown previously. Said she uses her stage name, Naomi Haruno, for fear of the local leaders and other ninja. Said she'd be willng to help us—her brother does not considr her too much of an asset. Said she only knows some basic medcal ninjustu. Just enough to be of help when he needs her. Said she doesn't like doing it. Quite nervous as she spoke. She offred Haruda was in Masuda (further south of Yam.), and told us his new base is close to a village north of there. Said he's been there for the past month; said she's suspct he'd move back to Yama. within next few days. Said (as I thought) has people in the bays here. Offered 'Cornelius' is the worst of them. Was enlisted by H. Said Cor. was a government person under the daimyo before Kiri came about, modeled after Kono. Said as the some members of clans stayed directly in the gov.; he fought vehemntly. He wishd to confine the ninja not merely to Kiri, but to a whole separate island, like on the southrn islands. Got good popular support, esp. among the locals. Only one had opposed him, she said—his long time rival and momentary friend…Jeremiah. (A shinobi himself…who had went AWOL…now I know why…) 'Cornelius' was apparently promised the ninja would move to the other islands, in exchange for his cooperation. Nao. said the older man is 'cranky' and hates being 'out of power'. So, asked a toad to use reverse summoning and relay some of this to K & K. Told them we'll be here until otherwise. Hope they're not running into anybody. 14 days. Nao warned Cornelius 'knows a shinobi when he sees one'. Shinobi must be very persecuted here. May never end._

.

_39__th__ night, Moku. Breezy off the bay. Da; and Takato hung about the dock in Yama for brief time to furtivly obsrve Cornelius. Gave me time to go back to Nao., as she travled with us. To ask her if she knew Razumo. Replied she'd heard his name (code name Kiz.) and said she knew of no one who might bring him down. Did not know his location—but said he'd been in Kushima waiting for some people (oh rapture), and then she heard (vaguely), he returned to some place in the woods (if she had to guess—north of Mine, south of Masu., north of the river that divides,). Said he was very powerful—Haruda beats up Okami quite well to get things done. Confirmed Razumo as the mastermind. Anyone outside Haru.; Zere, (and a Kaguya apparently) doesn't know about him. Asked her not to say we spoke of him; gladly agreed. Dal and Taka. found little except more critical talk on the local lords._

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_41__st__ night Doyou. (Belated.) Zerejin comes where the sake flows. Dalzen suggested we take him out said no (for right now), Dal reasoned he must be teaching those young dock hands. One can control an island merely by it's ports. The metaphors are getting a bit dry. We will wait one more day. Meanwhile, 11 days._

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_42__nd__ night, Nichiyou. Haruda no-show, proceeding with operation, 'take out Wolf' (Preferably with a hungry lion; or in this case…us.) I've offered to be bait, up front this time. We've got a priscise plan—haven't gauged much of Wolf's skills yet save the smoke bombs and fast legs. 10 days. Hope Kou and Kei are all right. Cloudy night—hope it clrs._

.

_47__th__ night (belated). Recovering from ill-fated adventure. Did not get Zerejin. Nothing else to show. He has fled further south. Presumably to Masu/Mine area. Currently tracking. Fought also one of the dock hands—white katana. Fighting style…not necessarily a dock hand. Taka. sensed a high chakra level from him. Had engaged Zerejin on 43__rd__, Getsuyoubi, at the shipyard. Turned into a chase, more than anythng. Zerejin still avoided direct contact; evasive, more on defense than offense. Ha, left that to his companion. His comp. was capable of deflectng genjutsu; then again, Dal only had one shot. Caught Okami in genjutsu, but he escaped thnks to his friend. More later. Tired. Nice night._

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_48__th__ night, arrived at the outskirts of Masuda. A small village named Koto. Doyoubi, warmly recived at an inn. Writing from atop a blanket, thank God (er, Shodai). (Delightful!) Beautiful moon. Dalzen says we should contact the others; I heartily agreed. Sent another reverse summon just to get a response. None yet from Kou & Kei. Hope nothing's happened, not like our end. I'm inclined to go back if we hear nothing from them…Dal wishes to stay and get Zere. Currently installing patience in my quest to make him smile; speaking of which, Taka. is more confident of his skills; he can identify Zere and others more readily now. Has suspicion there's more to his companion than meets the eye. Figured as much, with our luck. Said he could sense chakra from the white blade. And as something completely uneeded (you figured I'd get bored with this soon, though I know I must be brief and accurat; and conserve pg space), but I have to wonder if this grande old adventure is anything like the ones Karada went on. (As a youth…O, youth. Starting to get that.) 4 days._

.

It was nightfall, primarily, but the lights through the pale teal mist shown like stationary fireflies marking faint definitions of houses and shops and buildings in the oppressive adumbral fog. Down in the deep basin well, it was all they could see. And it was like staring at melancholy, incarnate.

She held her cape with cold hands, looking down, speechless at the discovery through the tree line. Beside her, he said, after a while, "…It's Kiri."

"…Yes," she continued. "Mist, all mist."

"…And fog and cold and snow."

"…And beryllium and magnetic fields."

They were silent for a moment.

"It's their village."

"It's their pride. And their natural defense system," she added lightly. "Kiri…The village hidden by magnetic fields…" He smiled before she continued. "…I'm glad we stopped to ask that kind old sir."

"He didn't have a turtle with him."

She laughed. "Only a harmless little beagle. You're taking this animal thing seriously, aren't you?"

"What's wrong with being a little prepared?"

She didn't answer. Kano continued looking at the deep misty valley atop the steep hill. She was about to ask him something when something small cracked a twig behind them. The two spun around and did not see a person, but a toad. "…You!" Coushander pointed, his hand already on his hilt. "Who do you work for!"

Kano flushed in embarrassment as she looked at the red toad.

"I have been trying to find you," it said curiously. "I have several messages from Saru."

Coushander cocked his brow in suspicion. "…Shouldn't you know a password or something?"

"…Like what?" the toad asked.

"I don't know…" he thought, and decided on a remote, useless piece of knowledge that randomly surfaced to his memory, that he was sure no one would know. "Who was Saru's next door neighbor?"

"Matsuko, of the Mihure clan. Wasn't she cute?" the toad replied. "You three played at the ravine behind your house and would catch frogs."

Coushander stared. "…How the _hell_ did you know _that?!"_

"They don't call us summons for nothing…I _am_ a _toad_ fer…" the small toad seemed to take offense. It looked up at Kano. "Can I repeat the message now, or what?"

She smiled apologetically and nodded. "Don't mind him."

.

The toad soon left them in a poof of smoke to return to Saru in confirmation. Sitting atop the hill, the two shinobi took in the news of the failed attempt to get Zerejin and where the three were now. The two were inclined to stay if they could find anything and then rejoin the group when they couldn't. "Sounds good," she said wearily.

"…What's wrong?"

"I don't know—it's an overwhelming job. I mean, what if we can't…what if we fail?"

He smiled. "There's no room for failure under Saru's watch…I'm joking, but I think if we move as a team, we could take down one of those Kaguya."

"I remember Sage said they're the only ones who didn't join the village. Maybe we could get one of them to help us," she nodded to the quiet blue basin.

"It's possible, but I'd rather not get any more of the ninja here involved with whatever's going on. Besides, if the Kaguya didn't sign on, who knows if any other clans are discontented with each other, or the village, for that matter. There's still a lot of clan fighting still going on… everywhere, I know. Kiri's no different."

She nodded. "So then recon it is…?"

"Just for a few days…It sounds like Saru's having fun down there."

"Oh…" Saru's name triggered her memory. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Is…Saru…? I mean…is Saru…your brother?"

He looked aside, "…What gave it away…" There was a joking smile in his voice. "…Was it the hair?" She blushed. "It's always the hair," he said in mock severity. "Dammit…"

"…Where did you grow up in Konoha?"

"On a little farm by a little town called Midori. You…?"

"Oh, the north end, kind of close to the new village. Nafume. So…it's just you two?"

"Yeah—just two boys. He's five years older than me. What about you?"

"Only child," she admitted.

"Ah, so no hand-me-downs…Lucky…"

She smiled. "Well I wished I had a brother or sister."

"They're more trouble than their worth," he joked.

.

_49__th__ night, Nichi. FINALLY heard from Kano & Kou via Gama Yonde. They are in Kiri village—outside of it rather. Kiri lives up to it's name. They will do recon. for a few days and then come back down. Quite relieved…_

.

_53__rd__ night, Mokuyoubi. Heard back from Kou via Yonde. Said they found nothing but 'various ninja with various and grotesque skills' and 'lots of swordsmen'. poor Kou. Still green. Nothing unusual H. wise. Said they were not too out of place. Said a lot of ninja have been taking protection assignments to northern dock hands and seafarers and tradrs. Quite reliable source of work, assuming H. doesn't throw a wrench in the wrks. God forbid R. should ever control those people. Still gauging for any sign of a base of opps. down here. Kou + Kei are heading down; will stop briefly in Nichi along the way._

.

_56__th__ night (Belated). Nichi. Takato sensed a high chakra level up the river; followed it but no luck. Saw a snake! A small violet one in the grass. Unsure if native or summon. Dal caught me looking at it. Weather? Calm for the south side. Clear night, to-night. Mosquitoes though._

.

_59__th__ night, Sui. Expecting Kano and Kou any time now. It's been six since they left. With the five of us, we can fan out better. Saw some garter snakes. I hate snakes. And mosquitoes. No sky tonight, muggy, may rain tomorrow._

.

_60__th__ night. Moku. Quite belated. Writing durng my watch. Thank God—Taka recognizd Kou & Kei's chakra signature this morning. With us now. I'm keeping watch. Expect to run through a plan tomorrw. And tomorrw, two months spent divulged in Kiri's ninja and political and R. schemes. Feel like singing…_Saru wrote after a while._ Not a good idea of course, but just a little air of…Angel Band? No, too depressing. …'And the Rock Cried Out'; yes, that would be the one._

.

An as a result, he had it stuck playing in his head the whole night. He even dreamt of Razumo, hiding behind a rock in a last-ditch effort to save himself from the team's heroics…only Saru was hiding with Razumo, which left him inexplicably perturbed. _Oh,_ he remembered, writing, _Bear had nothing to report._

.


	14. And the Rock Cried Out

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

.

.

Chapter 14  
_**And the Rock Cried Out**_

.

.

_65__th__ night. Kayou. (embarrased) Kou with my humming today. Not that I call that an accomplishmnt…Nothing else to report. Location of the base unknown. Our two teams are scanning further north; Keiko and Takato had nothing to report west of the river, so we're scanning a litl. more east._

.

_70__th__ night, Nichi. Dalzen's gotten impatient. (Whether he'd come to admit it or not.) Can't say I blame him. Coushander went so far as to try interrogating a possum this evening. Possum did not respond. Kousa pulled out his kata. Possum played possum. Had a talk with Kousa about the virtue of patience, excellent way to mention it to Dal as well. Kousa's not itching for a fight though, I think Dal is, just to get it over with. I agree, but, patience. We met up again with Kei and Taka. We've decided to leave in the morning and head NNE to Satsu. Perhaps see Jer. Should take about four days. Some of the land is flooded towards the north._

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_72__nd__ night, Kayou. Light rain turning into heavy rain. Stopped for the night, writing during my watch. Should have brought our own boat. Water puddles everywhere. Small lakes through the forest—Lakes flooding a few trails. Hill heights increasing toward Satsu. A few days away. Wooded and rural. Saw a field of crops with standing water. Many small villages. No mosquitoes—cold._

_._

_74__th__ night, Mokuyoubi, topography, west outskirt of Satsu. Arrived. Have yet to see Jer. Though, Dal recognizd his owl perched in the forest. It was sleeping. Good idea. Oyasumi._

.

_75__th__ night; (Belated). Went and saw Jer. Not attempt on him, he told us. Admitted his owl; 'Hoshu'. Good, conservative name—ha…Asked Jer about Cornelius—stirred up great a many a feeling—we could tell by the great austere appearance softening like melted snow. Divulged Cornelius as an ex-gov man, and recent water clerk for the land of waves, as well as water country. Unkind towards shinobi, was a rival to Jer. And Cor being a water clerk, he can approve anything H. has brought in to various places. Namely weapons which are altered in records as merely building supplies. Basically offered what Nao did—Jer did not know H. had a sister. Did say a woman has been around town—a Kaguya. He knows this by the color of her skin: chalk white, and also, her white 'shirasaya', described much like Kamen's….and that dock hand. Possibly three Kaguya working with H.?? Jer offered simple advice on how to fight Kaguya: be quick and be stronger. Ha…So, with possibly two/three Kag. nearby, we've thought of counter-scenerio's; Dal was a bit skeptical. We've split up into two teams, Keiko and Dal; myself, Kou, and Taka. Scouting in the forest to-morrow._

.

"…I am Kilrain and I'm a fighting man—"

"Oh no!" Coushander exclaimed. Remember Saru was always this obnoxious…? "Don't start!"

Saru grinned.

"You dig that out now from under the shilling, and I swear I'll kick your—"

"…And I come from county Clare…" he lilted.

Takato looked on at the two with a curious look of not understanding.

"…You'd rather hear Daniel?" Saru asked his brother on the tree branch.

"I'd rather… have you sing it to yourself."

"I am singing it to myself."

"No, I mean hum it to yourself."

"And so I ask you, would you prefer something else?"

"Anything but that, in particular."

"So you're prejudiced," Saru discovered.

"…No—Er—Yes! Yes, any other one but that."

"Can I ask why?"

"It's the most annoying—you sing it off-key."

"It's impossible to sing it off key. Was I singing it off-key?"

Seeing as it was directed at him, Takato awkwardly shrugged.

Kousa rolled his eyes; "I wasn't off-key," Saru continued. "You're just jealous."

"…Why would I be jealous!" he scoffed.

"Because _I_ know all the words, and in the right order."

Kousa said nothing as he looked away from Saru's wild grin.

Almost ten minutes later, Kousa heard the humming again. "…Will you quit it?!"

"…Quit what?"

"Don't play stupid with me!"

But the humming continued as Saru stared blankly at him. The three men looked at each other and they found it was coming from behind them. A woman was walking below, and the three retreated back to the ground. "I—I didn't sense her at all," Takato said in confusion. Her skin was chalk white, and she was wearing a cornflower blue uniform; a white shirasaya at her side. She had red eyes and blatant red hair, as red as blood.

Saru studied her. "She must be able to mask her chakra—Who are you?" he asked.

She smiled, and it soured her appearance even further. "Kaguya, Miho. I see you're a few of the men making waves here. Get it? Making waves? In water country?"

The men were silent.

"Well…" she shrugged them off. "I thought it was funny, and I heard, that you got close to Kiri."

"You hear that from Kamenosuke?"

"We're all family," she looked over Saru. "You shouldn't be here. None of you. Saru—you must have the decency to know what's required. Your colleagues look like they don't. I'd quit while you're ahead."

"A man who never quits is never defeated. It was the Senju way, and now it's a part of Konoha's. We don't accept outside opinions, thank you."

She frowned. "Fair enough," she said. "If that's your answer, you're as good as dead," The Kaguya drew the sword—bone from her side and instead of advancing with it, she broke it with chakra and re-formed it into three foot-long rods. She stuck the first one into the ground and threw the other two on either side of her.

"Move!" Saru said. "It's a trap!"

The trio scattered back up to the trees and she formed another set of rods using the humerus bones.

"What the hell is with these people!"

Saru ignored his brother. "How much chakra is running through those bones?"

"A-A lot," Takato confirmed. "Sh-She has the highest chakra level I-I've sensed so far."

Saru watched her. "Whatever you do, don't get caught anywhere with those bones—they'll entrap you. Takato, I think you've got our smoke bombs," He nodded. "Then," Saru said. "Throw them on either side of her. Kousa, just remove one or two of the bones if you can, I think I can get her."

"Oh nice…" Coushander mumbled. "…You sure?"

"Positive. Now…get ready…_break!"_

When the smoke cleared, the Kaguya was gone and Saru was after her. He initiated his juutsu, and the two suddenly stopped moving. With his eyes, Saru located Takato on his right, and Coushander behind him on his left.

_You've got her,_ Kousa thought, though for some reason, Saru didn't look too comfortable.

"…Got you…" she said. She was holding two rods in her hands, but she was unmoving. "…But I do think we've check-mated each other. I didn't know you knew paralyzation juutsu."

Kousa stared in disbelief, he was about to move to Saru's defense when he found he couldn't move either. He saw Takato across him, completely still. Kousa looked around in confusion and then he saw a third rod in a tree branch directly behind him. He cursed at himself and looked on at his brother. Saru did have her in the juutsu, only she also had control of them via the bone field. But he realized she had to be expending copious amounts of chakra to keep it going. And if either of the two gave out, one would have control of the other.

"I wonder…how long you can keep this up," her arms were shaking as she fought to break free.

Saru looked determined. "You tell us all you know regarding Haruda and the rest of your people…and I won't push this any farther."

"Ha!" Her laugh could only come out as a sneer; "Aren't _you_ bold…"

"As far as I see it…" Saru's voice stayed even, "You're not in a position to bargain. I've got two good shinobi on either side of me that can kill you if you don't comply."

"Haven't you got the nerve…!" she fumed.

"That's it, keep talking…"

Her hold faltered, and Coushander was let go before she recovered her hold on Takato and Saru; his juutsu advanced on her and she was completely still. It was in her red eyes that she disfavored the prospect of losing. "Bastard," she grunted. "I heard… your master was a hot-head like you…what was his name…?"

"Senju. Karada. He taught me well. It'd be wise to start talking. You're slipping."

The Kaguya glared. "Death first."

"…Coushander," Saru prompted.

Uneasily, Kousa drew the katana from his side. He watched Saru and the woman intently. He didn't feel good at what he was being asked to do. To some small relief, his brother continued; "This is your final chance…Tell us what you know, and I will let you go."

"You'll…let _me_ go…! A counter-proposal…: I'll let _you_ go, if you leave us be…I'll even find a ferry for you…with a giant hole in the side!"

"Gracious," Saru smiled dryly, "But no deal. You're slipping..."

"…Ridiculous! This is ridiculous!" she fought him, livid he was still matching her; "You lot from Konoha think you're so smart….! But I heard…your Senju…died of arrogance…" It was getting harder for her to speak. "…What a way to die! The Senju…the Uchiha…you're all the same! And_ that's_ why…it won't last…" she said. "Your truce won't last; you watch…the bet's here…aren't in your favor."

"…Sorry," Saru said, " But we also don't accept outside betting," he winked. "That's for us to decide."

Her chakra output slipped from a constant, and Saru's juutsu took over. Her own chakra was constricted, releasing Saru and Takato; and she suffocated. Saru nearly collapsed with her—Kousa quickly sheathed the sword and went to his brother's side. "I'm fine," he said, attempting to stand. He staggered for a moment and Kousa caught his arm to steady him. Kousa looked on at Takato, coming forward, and then at the Kaguya. Takato silently shook his head, communicating he sensed no chakra from her.

Saru swayed from Kousa's side. "…You all right?"

He nodded, but again he slipped and fell on his knees; his brother crouched next to him and stated the obvious. "You shouldn't use that jutsu."

"I'm fine, I'm fine…It's an effective one," he said in defense.

"Effective or not, it uses a hell of amount of chakra. Especially if somebody's matching you with it. What the hell is _with_ those people…"

"Well they are people, Coushander, rest assured they are that…I'm fine," he said again; "Let's go…"

.

_77__th__ night, Nichi(?) Hope I've been keepng track of that. Anywy, met up with Dal&Keiko. Exchangd stories, ours proving more intrestng. Decided to split into two teams again—Keiko caught a cold with she and Dal were out—nothing serious; a mild head-cold, nights have been getting rather cool…and vacant. Quite foggy right now. 3 mi max vis. So Kou is off with the austere Dal—suspect Kou is finding some inner peace, away from me, ha ha. They're hanging by the spot where we encountred the female Kaguya. Kou still green—if I can write up a few lines for persnal thoughts, Kou did not want to kill her. Said he stood there; knowing what he had to press, but felt weary. Said myself ditto, but ours is a mission that will go down to the wire. Reminded him of Yamagato, and all the others before it. Reminded Kousa also of what Karada always said (Karada not well liked here!); 'there are no atrocities in a war—war itself is an atrocity'. And still, we must fight. Kou will have to learn what and who to fight for…so he can be just another prod in the butt war horse :) (No offnse to the higher shinobi readng this—war horses are respected and revered immensly…so long as there are no children near-by…) (Which explains why I'll never be one…:) A crazed man is often crazy…but only a lunatic can share his heart in the way no one else can. And what a looney I am. It's a necessity._

Dalzen was an enigma, or so Coushander concluded. A rare one, at that. It was easy to remember. Over two months in, Coushander saw that what made him look so unsociable was that he looked so professional, as if he'd done a hundred assignments before. The dossier of the report of their mission gave the rough basic sketches of all of them, and only Saru and Dalzen, to his knowledge, stood out as real shinobi—ones who knew ninjutsu, and now Dalzen had some genjutsu in his arsenal. So Coushander doubted there was little this guy knew, until the question came, directed at himself, primarily. They were at the inn for the night, the same one Dalzen and Keiko previously stayed at. And Dalzen asked, in monotone, "How long have you been training, as a ninja?"

"Almost four years," Kousa said after a pause. "I've been with Saru most of the time," he left out the part when they had to take a long leave over six months ago when they got word their father died. "I admit I'm still green—though Saru has greater plans for me, I think," he added in playful exaggeration. "I supposed you've been in the regiment a while…?" he returned curiously.

Dalzen perfectly executed one of his signature, nearly noncommittal grunts.

Coushander nodded, nonetheless. "Saru gets that way sometimes too. He's been in a whole lot longer than me."

"Your brother," Dalzen pronounced, "Is a little annoying."

Coushander's surprise was two-fold: One, Dalzen knew, and second, Dalzen actually used the word 'annoying' to describe something. "Oh," Kousa stuttered, "Kano—er, Keiko told you?"

"I inferred it the moment he asked me to go on this mission."

Dalzen, though he showed he could use adjectives, was still a literalist. But Kousa went with it. "…Then why'd you take it?"

Dalzen offered a total of five vague words, "It was anywhere but Konoha."

"…Oh," Kousa studied him. Dalzen didn't elaborate further.

That night was relatively uneventful, however, the next night, the two were out in the forest west of Satsumasendai, and Dalzen had the inclination to stay up in the trees when he suddenly hushed Coushander for no apparent reason. They were spaced about eight feet apart, high on two tree branches, and Dalzen silently pointed below them. Coushander looked and then he saw in the horizon ahead of them, three men—four men, who were walking through the forest. There were two lead men who were talking, and two behind them, carrying a stretcher with a covered body. Their voices came in clearer when Kousa focused in and listened. He recognized the white hair and robe of the lead man on his left, looking on—Kamenosuke, and he sounded angry. "…I want to know," he said forcefully.

The other man stopped him. He was about the Kaguya's height, if not taller, and more muscular in frame. From where Kousa was, the other man had peach-orange hair, and blue brown clothes. His voice was light and even. "I told you I don't make assumptions."

Kamenosuke didn't seem to believe him. "You _will_ promise I will be the first to know who did this."

"Of course," he obliged. "Upon my honor."

The way he said the words sounded forged. Kamenosuke wouldn't relent. "You must understand she was my sister, and I cannot fathom who brought her down…She had so much further to go…Does Akito know about this?"

"No, not yet. Would you like me to tell him?"

"You know where he's at?"

"Yes, he's with Zerejin. They're going island-hopping."

"To Yuma?"

"Yes, but you are needed to stay here, if you don't mind."

The plain Kaguya looked as if he nodded, as he said nothing. "Then you…" he continued, "Or Zerejin will tell him?"

"Of course."

"And does my mission still stand?"

The man laughed lightly, as if her were being cordial. "Yes," he answered with a smile. "Though you should be glad he doesn't play by time."

"…Am I not doing it correctly? Do you wish me to move faster?"

"…No," the man said after a while. "I'd like to keep Saru-Shin entertained. You're doing a wonderful job—though you've just lost your partner."

"My _sister,"_ the Kaguya corrected petulantly.

The man continued boldly, "Will you need a replacement? Shall I call Akito back?"

"If you can spare him…yes," Kamenosuke agreed. "No doubt you know that I have had trouble rallying the others."

The man muttered something inaudible to the shinobi, and to Kamenosuke; "Wonder why…"

"I will return to my woods and make the preparations. Have him get to me by...next week some time. Tell him not to take too long. I believe Zerejin is always running to and fro."

"Ah that's Okami for you. Consider it done."

"Then you do have your promise, Haruda."

"As soon as it's decided, you'll get the memo."

Kamenosuke nodded slowly. "Fine," The Kaguya walked away, on the man's right, and followed a path that would take him north, out of the shinobi's sight.

"Come on," the man commanded. The troupe continued on the path below, to the left of Dalzen, in a straight diagonal of the clearing, moving south. The two shinobi remained dead silent as they passed by. They waited a good while before any attempt at communication. Finally, Dalzen jumped over to Kousa's branch and asked, "Who's faster?"

"You mean who's more graceful," Coushander returned quietly. "Not to intentionally burden you, but I severely lack in that department."

"Fine then," Dalzen agreed. "I'll track him, you wait here."

"Shouldn't I give you some kind of time limit?"

"You could… but you could also go find Takato. He would be useful."

_A positive adjective…!_ "But what if something happens to you? What if you get captured?"

And for one split-second, Kousa thought Dalzen was actually going to roll his eyes in…annoyance; but, the Morino refrained. "Just go, and go quietly. I will take precaution."

With that, Dalzen left gracefully, making no sound as he traveled after the group.

His strong, stoic voice lingered in Kousa's ear: _I will take precaution_—_Well,_ he thought_, I'll take it, too._ Coushander moved away, back towards the west end of town, and slipped at least four times. It was only lucky he was going in the opposite direction…

.

_80__th__ night—Haruda is no ghost. Setting out. Belated._

.

_84__th__ night (belated) followed Dal/Haruda's trail—Dal with us now. Found the fabled base. North of what we expected—North-west of Masuda, by the big lake, on the western side. Can't get too much closer with a party of five. Saw a house near it—base is behind a waterfall, close to a small tributary of the river. Saw no one other than Haruda's two-man caravan enter, or exit. Basd on prev. infmation, 'Akito' (third Kagu. Zer's recent partner) should be w/Kamenosuke. So, I proposed some 'entertainmnt' of my own, if they're so fond of me. Dal opposed—since I suggested he and Kousa head back to Satsu to see what Kamenosuke is up to—reasoned it could be somthng serious—Dal reasoned we should go after H.—Kousa suggested they give it a week, and then come back. Agreed._

.

_85__th__ night, Getsu, Dal and Kousa should reach Satsu in about two days. Told Kousa ahead of time I would communicate via toad. Kousa still thinks it's necessary to interrogate it first…_

.

They did reach Satsu in two days, and found nothing changed. The two approached the woods where Kamenosuke was supposed to have claimed as his own, and Coushander was the one to find the majority of traps. It was anything from false ground to stringed wire with rope, or the more lethal ones—where Coushander redeemed himself and caught a kunai in midair while it was on route to fly by his head. They couldn't go much deeper into the forest as the traps grew more intricate. Wire was hidden behind wire, and a perimeter barrier hindered them. So they retreated back at least fifty yards from all the excitement, and Kousa took the first watch.

.

Dalzen did not dream, but, looking back, he'd have hardly called it a dream. It permeated not only his mind, but his senses—it was dark in the forest, and he was standing facing south. There was a tug on him from above to walk in that direction. He looked behind him, and finally decided to go forward. Dalzen saw an older man standing beside a tall pine; he cautiously walked toward him until he recognized it was Jeremiah. The older man looked weary, as if he'd been out there walking for a long time—there was an odd feeling to the air as if Dalzen was supposed to be somewhere. Dalzen came closer and stared at him quizzically. "…I haven't got much time," Jer began shakily.

"What…do you mean? What's going on?"

Jer staggered backward and in a jerk, fell on his knees as if he'd been pushed down. Dalzen knelt with him in confusion, but he could not gauge what was wrong with him. "I haven't got time…" Jer said again. "There's so much else I could have helped you all with… There's so much else I could have said—I needed to say…A man my age, you get so set in your ways…" He buckled again, closing his eyes as if he were fighting something, "Zerejin is still in Yuma," he offered. "There's a base there, not at all for good intentions…I know that, but know this…" Jeremiah looked up at the Morino and half-smiled. "You've reminded me…a great deal of someone I once knew…Dalzen…the most important thing is to find out who you are…we may all be a collective bunch of strangers…but…we've met before, you and I…A shinobi may be what you are, but as shinobi…know what you believe…and _why…_And when you know…" he said with difficulty, "Never forget…who you fight for…"

Dalzen woke up with a slanted view of the woods, as if he'd suddenly been turned up-side down. Disoriented, he sat up slowly.

Coushander looked at him curiously. Dalzen's brow was furrowed behind his bangs and an intense look was on his face. "…Something wrong…?" Kousa asked him.

But Dalzen stood up without a word and started walking.

"Oi! Hey wait for me…!" Quickly, Coushander grabbed the katana beside him and followed; Dalzen suddenly stopped and Kousa ran into him. "…What?!"

Dalzen had taken the time-out to stare up into the trees.

"What the hell…?" Kousa started; Dalzen silenced him.

They heard an owl hoot in the distance.

Dalzen barely glanced back to Coushander before he started running, "I think something's happened to Jeremiah."

Finally getting a response, Coushander didn't argue.

.

They arrived in the patch of pines that marked Jer's land, but when the small house came into view from the north side, it was obstructed—engulfed in a huge hedge of stark white birch—only when they approached carefully, they saw it wasn't any kind of a tree's wood, the substance was bone. It was a thick hedge of bone—fragments of the roof littered the ground around it, and where the bones came out of the ground and branched in and out of the walls, the wood was all torn apart like curled paper throughout the massive chaos of white. Coushander openly gaped.

Cautiously, Dalzen tried wading through the thorny branches of the bones towards what was left of the inside of the house.

"…Careful," Coushander said, but it came out far too quiet, even for himself to hear. He followed Dalzen in a ways and stopped to watch the shredded pieces of the roof for any signs of movement. Dalzen was having to slide between each branch—he took it slow as to not disturb the fragile wreckage. He was stepping on both wood remnants and bone and books. He found the red chair; bones torn through it, and then Jeremiah, lying still in the thicket—a bone driven through his chest. Dalzen could see his face—he looked peaceful in an otherwise chaotic mess of white and wood.

"…Here," Dalzen said.

Coushander looked through the thicket and saw what he was referring to. "…How the hell…And how…did you know…?"

"I didn't know," Dalzen answered honestly, looking at the twisted scene. "I have no idea."

"Well…I think we know who did this…God dammit…" Kousa cursed. "But why?" Dalzen was silent; Coushander stared at him. "They left him alone this long, why? Why now? Why the hell would he do this?"

"…Whom?" Dalzen finally said. Carefully, he maneuvered his way back, Kousa led out. "If Saru's theory is true, and Akito, the dock hand is the third Kaguya…which was it?" Dalzen wondered, "Him or Kamenosuke?"

"…Or both," Kousa offered grimly. "Remember—remember when Keiko and I ran into him, Kamenosuke retreated when he saw Jer's owl. I think it was either Akito or the two of them in concert."

"Logical—except for the reason why…" The two were out and they started at the white mass of tangled bone.

"This is terrible," Kousa murmured. "Damn those bastards."

"Calm _down,"_ Dalzen snapped at him.

Coushander looked at him and saw his teammate was looking almost as angry as he felt. "So…" Kousa took a breath. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. But…I do know…we were too late."

"…Yeah," Kousa said quietly. "But there must be some kind of trail we can follow."

"Those Kaguya know these woods inside and out, they're bound to have many places to hide. I doubt there's anything."

"Well…it must have used up a hell of amount of chakra—if it didn't, I'll be pissed even more," Coushander thought. "It had to have—the way Kamenosuke fled just after seeing his owl…"

"…I think Jeremiah…put up a fight," Dalzen said slowly, his dark eyes still scanning the tragic site. "We will have to tell Saru this."

Kousa bit his lip, "Then let's be on the watch for our friendly neighborhood toad—hey, you have any idea where Jer's owl is…?"

Dalzen looked up through the trees "No…I don't."

.

_91__st__ night—three full months on the island. Jer is dead. __Died by a Kaguya's_ Saru couldn't very well write 'hands' since he would mean 'bones', so he wrote, _A Kaguya killed him. I've instructd Dal and Kousa to go to Nichi. and tell the news—Dal did not want to—Kousa had to back me up. I believe it's necessary they know. (D. said it was 'a waste of time'.) The three of us are headng back north—Naoko came to us this aftrnoon and told us her brother moved out, and was headng for the east coast, poss. Yama. Told us she was in the room w/the examiner H. had, and said he believed Jer had killed the fem. Kaguya since she had no visible wounds. Based on what Kousa and Dal said of how it affected Kamenosuke, safe to say, he was one of the parties involved, with poss. an accomplice, the young dock hand. _Saru-Shin tried erasing a headache he knew would never leave him. _Feel very bad this happened,_ he wrote. _My fault._

.

_93__rd__ night—Saw the extent of what happened at Jer's. MASSIVE. A literal hedge of bone grew, or formed right through and around his house. Almost like a miniature wheat field…of bone. Recovered Jer—may he be at peace—also, found a scroll with a note on it, addressed to our Dal. Still waiting on them to return—poss. later to-night or tomorrow._

.

_94__th__ night—Sage and Jin came back with Dal and Kousa. Jin very sad—both equally shocked. Gave Jer a proper burial—by his house, Jin initiated that. Sage sends Bear's regards. The two will head back in a few days—staying at an inn in Satsu.—been foggy lately—Gave Dalzen the scroll Jer left behind. Kousa mentiond Dal seemd to instinctively know something was wrong, Dal (reluctantly) divulged his 'dream'. Fascinatng. I could only guess Jer could have done it through his owl…? (Which we have not seen.) May never know, now. Jer's riddles live on. Suggested Dal and Kousa travel to Yuma while the three of us stay here and deal with these Kaguya…Dal's had this look in his eye, and it became that much more menacing. He'd make a great interrogator._ Saru paused and thought. _I need more time to gauge where in the world—water country/Kiri (which may be someplace to look into if my face isn't plastered anywher) is R. hiding—planning, or even doing. Kamenosuke's orders were from him, tracking Kamen. may be our best bet. Getting past the peri. barrier will be loads of fun (--knock on all the wood in Konoha!). Relatively calm night—though heard from Sage there's storms to the far west that'd be here in a few days. Big low press. system._

.

It was Coushander's third time on a boat—because the first time was far north of Konoha, where a small merchant ship was stuck on a high bank in the bay. The crew had spent hours trying to tug it, and still it held. That was when Saru-Shin had the brilliant and absolutely insane idea of doing what most people do when something is stuck: get out and push.

Coushander still couldn't live that down. Mention it once, "Hey, weren't you one of the guys…?" and he'll hide the rest of his face in shame. All he could picture was himself, Saru, and three other Konoha ninja standing out on the water and pushing the back of the boat. It was the most embarrassing (though effective) affair he'd ever suffered under. Konoha—Shodai loved Saru-Shin for it though, since the ship had belonged to a man hailing from Kumo—and not just any man—but a lord over a southern province, who finally agreed to restore traveling rights to shinobi through his district. Saru-Shin was always crazy like that, though, remember…?

Too well. It seemed no matter how hard he pushed it down over the years, everything came flooding back, much like the way he and Dalzen left Yuma almost two months later. The weather was not on their side. After a dry start to the week after they arrived, the two had spent a full month fighting against the rain and wind—it didn't make tracking Zerejin any easier, especially not when once they found him, he was so fond of running away. The only grace was the simple fact the island was so small and the trees and ditches so big. For two weeks after, the rain stopped, and then it picked up again. But for Dalzen, when they left, something still wasn't adding up. When the two shinobi arrived back in Satsu, it was unannounced to all but one person—one thing, and that was the mysterious little brown owl once belonging to Jeremiah. They found it—or it found them, and it hooted and flew north. It led them to the rest of their team, who looked almost as worse for wear as they did, but Saru-Shin, predictably was over-joyed.

.

_Day 154, conclu: Kousa and Dalzen are back with us—R. picked a mighty fine place in-deed to spawn M.'s pity-party. Kousa says it rained (as it did here) and rained. (Forgot this was monsoon season…??) They are ok. Said they found the base (wasn't all that hard), in a small village of Miore, just near the main city of Reina. Cornelius is dead. Dalzen got to him—recovered some transcripts of what looks like a supply list—there was a whole slew of them, perhaps a third for shady purposes, the other two-thirds actually for commercial, a lot of the recent supplies have been food and books-education(??), pamphlets, documents—said there were about fifteen men under Zerejin's direction. Said just before they left, they set a few paper bombs that took out the office/hold. Said Zerejin's got a new kid with him—a young woman, black hair and eyes, called 'Tsunami'—obviously a code name…(…poss. conec. To R.?) Zer. and her escaped –Dal and Kousa had a hard time finding a man who'd take them back to shore. Dal suggested Zer might be headng back toward Yam or Masu._

_Conveyed our bout with little nephew Akito, of the Kaguya clan, who wasn't so little skill-wise…still have the scars. But, that leaves Kamenosuke as far as Kag. go. If it weren't for the damn mudslide, we would have had him. Also conveyed the two were the ones to kill Jer—Kousa still indignant bout that, Dal looking haggard with impatience—Kousa told me in priv. Dal. (whilst in Yuma) confessed to having serious doubts about me and the mission, Kousa said he'd be lying if he didn't think it all was a bit much. I told him, 'blame it on the sudden forty days nights of Noah's Ark!'. Agreed. I lessoned the strain with humming; it made Kousa cringe, what can I say. They know me now, and I them. Definitly getting though Sunday some-how. (Through puddles and wet land, no less.) Currntly cold, but calm—partly cloudy night. Can see some stars are out—can see Naga and his flock of sheep, at least. Father would be proud. _Saru studied the constellations and the grey clouds in total silence. _We're still on route north—but we will consider a new plan of action to-morow. Keiko is glad to see them back, esp. Kousa. Got a smile out of Takato again—myself…much more determined to see this through. I have faith. I'd like to know more about this 'Tsunami'; knock on all the wood in Konohamaru she is not who I think she is, and if so, she is the last of who I think she is. Hope Shodai has discouraged __anybody else with those in _Saru realized he couldn't write the name, or even what he did. So, he illegibly scratched out the latter half and simply wrote, _them._

_._

_Day 155, Getsu! Night calm. Keiko has been runing low on medicl supplies, so, it was decided that she and Kousa will go back to Nichi. and see Bear. Told them to ask him if he knew about 'Tsunami', or anybody else new in the system. Oh, and if it's not too much trouble, could he spare a new pen. I fear this one…_"…Oh no," Saru voiced. He waved the pen around, but it only dug white lines on the page.

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_Day 160, night, written during my watch. Bless Bear—what do new pens smell like…? I don't know actually. But they're nice. Keiko and Kousa are back with us. Bear has no knowledge of 'Tsuna.', nor has he seen anythng unusual. However, said his daughter was approached by some people from Kiri—sporting new headbands—inquired after the young boy, Hata. Must still be searching for all the ninja clans…? Baffled on that one._

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_Day 161, night, Nichiyoubi—had an idea today. We've been going due north and it seems the 'crazy magnetic field' as Kousa and Kei dub it extends this far in a sort of diag. from Kamen's woods. Very curious. So, summoned two toads, and sent them on ahead. They will report back if they find anything/anyone. Keiko had some trouble today. I believe—well she did, she meant to summon a tracking hound from an inu scroll of summons she has, and…instead, we are stuck with a tiny grey dog who hasn't stopped moving. Let him sniff a kunai that was Akito's—wanted to go back south. Acute sense of smell. Very odd he could do that, considring. Can't talk yet. Currently he's finaly falling asleep—shows no signs of returning to the summn world. Odd, but amusing._

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_Day 163—Kayou—night, raining, lightly, suprise suprise. At Hatosaki. Heard bck from Yonde and Gam. B., said they saw boats from the fishing villages, also said on land, they saw some movement up ahead at a small town called Hachinohe. Tomorrow, Kousa and I will check it out, while the others stay here and watch._

.

Coushander remembered the cliff was exceedingly high, and had he and Saru been any closer, the fall would have killed them instantly (assuming there were no pods of dolphins to break them, which would have been even more fantastic). But Coushander, like Dalzen, had been wondering why Saru seemed to be more interested in chasing Kamenosuke than Zerejin. That was until he saw something—someone he could not explain.

They'd been traveling two days, about were to head back. Saru was making quick corrections on one of his maps, and Kousa was counting blades of grass when he saw movement deeper in the forest. At first, he thought it was a squirrel until he felt the presence was heavier than that, owing to a traveler or fisherman—he stood up and looked, and that was when the odd wave hit him, and Coushander saw where he was watching, a pair of gleaming red eyes. Staring, he could finally focus on the slate-grey shadow of a man and it froze him for a few seconds; the red eyes remained while his peripheral seemed to shake. "…Saru," he got out.

Saru seemed to sense the change too. He returned the maps, folded to his pocket and stood up and looked, but the man Kousa saw was gone.

A new figure moved at the close of the forest—Coushander could make it out as a female. Cautiously, they walked forward, and Kousa saw it was Kano, falling over on her knees. Coushander ran to her—Saru looked around in confusion; "…This can't be real," he murmured. "…Kousa, wait!"

But as he emerged from the tree line, a paper bomb timed out and the ground shook and cracked beneath him—Kano was gone and Coushander was falling with the slide. Saru dove after him, barely catching his brother's hand; "Use your chakra!" Saru said.

Coushander's left hand gripped a jagged edge and as he put chakra to it, he found the scene change and the cliff restored—he was lying face down on the ground breathing in dust—the cliff fully intact behind him. "…What…the hell…?"

"Genjutsu," Saru replied simply.

"Shit," Kousa said as he gathered himself and slowly sat up right. His head felt dizzy. "…It's…over…?"

Saru nodded until his brother's eyes widened for a second time.

Dalzen, Kano, Takato, and the prancing grey dog emerged from the tree line.

"Release," Saru pointed at himself—but the four remained. Dalzen was holding up the map that never made it to his pocket. "…Did you see anyone in the forest?" Saru exclaimed, standing up.

"No," Dalzen answered. "Only this," in his other hand, he briefly held up a torn seal marked to the edges for genjutsu, time-release, and eye contact. "A genjutsu that can be tripped in the same way a wire can. Why—Should we?" he asked intently.

"…A man," Coushander said slowly, still reeling from the jutsu. "I saw a man...with bright red eyes."

"…Was it a Kaguya?" Kano asked.

Coushander was about to say no when Dalzen stared Saru-Shin in the eyes. "Or was it an Uchiha…?"

The three started at them both while the little grey dog was running short circles in hopes of catching his tail.

Saru did not answer right away. "Did you see anyone?" he repeated.

Dalzen looked at Takato. "N-no sir…all I sensed was a chakra signature, a-and then it was gone."

Dalzen stared at their captain, by now, it wasn't a question. "Was it an Uchiha."

"The seal…could have been planted by a Kaguya…but…I believe it was an Uchiha behind this."

Dalzen heard him. "Do you realize, if there is an Uchiha on this island, we are in no way equipped to—"

"Whoa whoa," Coushander interjected. "Back up. Saru," he said, looking up at him, sharing the doubt and suspicion Dalzen possessed, "…Who are we chasing…?"

Saru looked wary.

Sensing his thoughts, Dalzen said, "I set up a perimeter barrier twenty yards back…as if that would discourage an Uchiha…or anyone else for that matter," He walked closer and folded his arms. "Answer his question."

"…We were sent here, by Shodai," Saru returned calmly to Dalzen's distrust, "To stop Uchiha Razumo at all cost."

"Uchiha…Razumo," Dalzen repeated.

"Also goes by Kizuato. Haruda and Zerejin are only our cover…and I've found they're working with him anyway—taking orders. While they may want water country's government, Razumo wants Kiri itself."

Coushander finally stood up on his own. "…For what?"

Saru looked at him briefly. "No doubt…all of you have to be aware of Uchiha Madara's…displeasure with Shodai looking over things. Shodai felt it was important to keep that old rivalry personal…so, unbeknownst to everyone but Shodai and his younger brother…" Saru paused in the irony; there was no easy way to say it. "Madara sent someone here to…rise up a future force against Hashirama, and possibly all the Senju. It's equivalent to an ace in the hole, or a bargaining chip, in effect. A dangerous one at that."

Dalzen looked at him angrily. "But do you realize that none of us…not one, not even you are strong enough to bring down an Uchiha. A Kaguya…? Maybe," he granted. "But an Uchiha?! Forget it. It's absurd. It's impossible. Surely you could have chosen from a more well-suited lot. There is only one Uchiha here—isn't there?"

The image of the ill-fated Uchiha on the _Notsuhodo_ came to mind amidst a tsunami, but Saru stayed confident. "Yes, only one," he locked eyes with him, "And if I have done the math, that's one operative against five. If we work together, I think we will do it, and so did Shodai. Yes, he could have hand-picked a select team, but then everyone would know about. So he picked me, and technically, I'm still on reprimand, so no one listens to a guy like me," Saru half-smiled. "Shodai had the final say over this team, and he believes in us, as do I."

_Still…an Uchiha…_Coushander thought wearily. "…Well," he said, keeping his doubt from his voice. "We better come up with a plan—I could stand to learn a few new things on genjutsu…" Kousa suddenly understood why Jeremiah wanted to teach Dalzen genjutsu: for moments like his.

"Genjutsu alone isn't going to win anything," Dalzen replied harshly.

"And neither is pessimism," Saru answered him.

"Pessimism? I am being realistic, unlike some people in our village. What was the meaning of this, just now?" Dalzen held up the broken seal. "Perhaps it was a test for you, to see how weak we are, or was it meant to really kill someone just to enrage you, or both? Jeremiah knew about Razumo, didn't he?" Dalzen said. "And if the Kaguya are working with him, we'll be lucky if we don't start a war for as blood-thirsty as they are."

"Dalzen, then I am curious to know why you came after us?"

"I had a feeling," he answered seriously. "I've had one since Jeremiah died."

At the first part, Coushander grinned, and then it faded. "…Well," he thought, "Have more feelings, and we'll get Razumo in half the time." From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Keiko smile at his lame joke.

Dalzen glared at him, "Did you know about this too?"

Kousa shook his head honestly. "No. But…like Saru said, Haruda and Zerejin are working with him anyway. Haruda could have planted this for that matter—we never did get a look at his eyes," he looked briefly to his brother. "And…if Shodai has faith in us, I'll bet on it."

"He sure as hell isn't going to send anyone else, then," the Morino muttered.

"Which is why…" Saru looked at him sternly. "It's a good thing to have friends. I think you've forgotten some of the things Jeremiah told you."

Dalzen's eyes flashed for an instant, but he couldn't think of anything to say to it.

.

The group retreated back to Hatosaki. Takato, though it was no official order, made himself be on alert for various chakra signatures, especially those that might double Kamenosuke's. And though Kousa took on the liberty of staying positive, he still could not shake the serious doubt he and Dalzen shared about their real assignment. Kano and Takato had it too—but Coushander's might have been taken to a more personal level since his own brother had lied, by omission. He understood there were many things kept unsaid for obvious reasons, but why not disclose it when they got on the island? The boat ride? His brother had never intentionally done anything like this—then again, Coushander could never remember the stakes being raised this high. He hated to consider if Dalzen was right—his brother was too soft or too protecting, as he usually was. But when it came time for Saru's watch, Coushander asked him why.

"…Honestly," Saru told him. "I'm prepared to fight him."

Coushander smiled. "You mean you've made your peace with the universe?"

"Not just that…" Saru smiled back. "For Karada."

"Oh…" A sudden wave, of understanding hit him and he realized he'd almost forgotten the lost years Saru-Shin had been under a Senju's command. "…Yeah. I understand. You…probably thought we'd come to know it differently," Kousa thought. "Like when we saw you and the Uchiha dead…and then we'd just have the baby turtles to deal with."

"That's no excuse."

"Well you did warn us we could lose our lives—it was that kind of mission," Kousa thought again. "We couldn't bring our headbands, which sucks…I'm sure…" he grinned at his brother.

"That's no excuse either," Saru smiled.

"Well don't be hard on yourself…You know, if I were you, I may have done the same thing." _Who wants to be told they have to fight an Uchiha…?_ Kousa smiled in the back of his mind.

"If you were me…you'd be a lunatic…"

Coushander grinned. "So—let's say we succeed—can we go back to Konohamaru? Or will there be secret assassin Uchiha waiting for us?"

"_That's_ why you're not me," Saru smiled again. "I have the will to think by the time we get back, Shodai will have dealt with that. Besides the two, there was an Uchiha who did know Madara's plans, but I was never told his name."

"Ok…but this'll take a little longer than six months."

"Well, we know where we are now."

"You said the five of us could do it…" Coushander looked at him. "We're going to need Dalzen. I mean, next to you…he's our strongest link."

"I know," Saru said simply.

"Hey…!" Kousa had thought about it. "You know? I_ knew_ that guy was like a hangnail!"

Saru scolded him, "Coushander…!"

"You know it's true!" he grinned in secret. "I was on to something."

Saru couldn't keep from smiling. "I will find out what makes him tick," he said quietly.

Coushander leaned in and offered one word, "…Kerosene."

"_Kou—saa!"_

"If he fights Razumo, he might just light up for us all!"

Saru jabbed him, but his brother was laughing on the cruel twist of words. He jabbed him again. "Very funny—I don't think that's what Shodai had in mind when he spoke of the will of fire."

It only made Coushander laugh harder.

.

The Konoha shinobi moved out, with the disgruntled Dalzen still in company and followed north again. Kano tried encouraging 'Hairo' as they started calling him, to go back to the summon world (presenting him with the scroll—which he nearly took the liberty to use as toilet paper, and giving him non-serious threats of island-al deportation). But the grey dog was adamant to be in their company, whether he understood them or not—which was questionable. So, instead, he enjoyed running around their feet with an absolutely extraordinary level of hyper-activity. Through the tension, the dog was literally amused by anything that gave off a distinct shine, especially the raven sheath of Coushander's katana, which he regularly flung himself at when Kousa was least expecting it. He concluded the dog must have been part schizophrenic. The dog actually responded to that though: he barked, and then ran to nip at Saru's heels.

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_Day 183, night, we've arrived in Niatsu, a northern fishing village where Takato has confirmed a large chakra level—pos. Kamen or R. And the rock cried out, no hiding place. We are due north of Aburatsu, and north-north west of the Kiri village. If R. or Kamen. heads south, will not be good. There are mountains all around Aburatsu. Hairo's crazy about some kind of trail—poor Keiko. I think it might be worth following—Dal didn't offer much of an opinion. Tomorrow we set out in two teams; Keiko, Kou, and Hairo, and the rest of us will be here to determin who it is. Officially six months on the island. Knock on all the wood in Konohamaru this will be over soon. (At which point Dalzen can file an official protest of me.) Not giving up on him._

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	15. A Race Through Dark Places

(Belated) Thank you's: Thank you to J. Conrad; in light of the 21 hour writing session you embarked on until dawn; sir, I am truly in awe of your perseverance, even in your darkest hours. I share your irony, and I share your joy. It's been wonderful talking with you, and I hope we can continue to in the future. Coushander is not near yet from being done. But it has dived into my heart all the same, and I _will_ see it through. Tell Chesterton I haven't forgotten him. I am sure I will need both of you for chapter 25. No one else came to my rescue.

(Again—if you're reading this, I'm so so sorry for the hiatus!! You are a brave reader to come this far—I thank you deeply if you have. Though I have to say, I'd be content if no one read this at all; for all it's meant to me, I am absolutely, perfectly, and wholly content.) Yes, this chapter is long, but the next ones I have lined up and henceforth won't be this long—this one just turned out that way because of all the stuff I had to get in here.)

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_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 15  
_**A Race Through Dark Places**_

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"Sorry…" he said. "But I think that dog is going to get us killed."

Hairo skidded to a stop and his grey head craned around as if he'd heard Coushander's comment.

"And I hate it when he looks at me like that. It's like he_ knows_ something…"

"I'm not sure he knows _anything…"_ Kano commented quietly. "Still," she said, looking between them, "I think he's fond of you."

"Fond of _me?_ I think the only thing he's fond of is this," he rested his left hand on the hilt of his katana. "I think the sheath is getting bite marks."

She offered an apologetic smile, and before she could say anything, the little grey dog stopped his intensive staring and frantically ran past the two and then stopped and started barking at the ground for no apparent reason.

"He's strange—he's deeply strange," Kousa stated.

"Hairo!" Kano called to him. "Come here!"

But the dog continued his fixed attention on the ground.

"…Hairo!"

The dog barked adamantly at a pine cone and let out a rolling whine.

"What's the matter with him…?" Kano walked up to the little dog and he continued to ignore her. "Hairo." She laid a hand on his head and still he did not flinch. "Hairo!"

"…Try him with a little chakra."

"Ok…" She tapped the dog, and Hairo swayed for a moment—his eyes shot to Kano's and he leapt on her and barked in recognition.

"Ah! Get off…!"

Coushander had walked ahead of her between the trees as he found the problem.

"...What is it?" Keiko asked, trying to rid herself of dog.

"I'm afraid it's another one," he approached her and presented a ripped genjutsu seal.

"…Oh…save that," she said grimly. "That's probably what he smelled…"

Hairo, seeing Kano's attention stop, refocused on his next target: he ran around Coushander's feet and then started sniffing the trunks of various trees.

"…Probably," Kousa said. Still, he knelt down and held out the ripped seal for the dog's nose. Hairo immediately pranced over and inhaled it. "Where are they, boy?"

The dog's nose lowered and he started walking back up north.

"Hairo, we came that way," Coushander flatly pointed out.

Keiko was watching the dog's movements. "How can he be going back the way we came? We didn't plant it."

Coushander looked at the seal, and then at the dog. "Funny you should say that. I have a _conspiracy_ theory," he said dramatically.

They walked together after the dog. "…What?" she looked at her teammate curiously.

Secretly, he was grinning. "I bet Dalzen planted these just to twist the truth from Saru."

Her eyes widened in surprise; her laugh rolled and stopped; "…W-what…?!"

He smiled at her, "Just kidding. Though it's a good one, if I can say so."

She smiled. "Yeah…Though…If I can be frank with you…this is all pretty daunting. I'm not sure what I can do. I mean, know you all are strong, but I haven't had much training."

"I haven't either. Most of what I've learned has been on the fly with Saru or somebody else. It's…" he looked up through the pines and remembered a sight similar to when he and Saru first left. "I don't even get it, to tell you the truth—_I'm_ probably our weakest link, and Saru knows it. I just never really could understand the different ninjutsu or genjutsu…it's pretty sad," he smiled again. "But…" he said after a while. "I've learned to have some faith in some things and people. I'm sure it'll work out."

She smiled again. "Well, I suppose it's only been six months…"

"Exactly!"

"…Oh…" she thought, reminded of their captain. "Why don't you like…'Dixieland'?"

The question caught him off-guard and he stammered; "W-_What?!_ It's the same 'why' I don't think any of that…! _That…!_ He's so _obnoxious…!"_

She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Honestly! The nerve of that guy is a rope cord, I swear," he looked her in the eyes. "Ask him about the Black Sheep sometime—Payback." he declared pointedly. "Absolute, unconditional payback. He can get me with anything Kilrain, and I can get him with anything…hitsuji," he said awkwardly. "It works out that way…" Coushander inwardly sighed. "And I apologize for all of his humming…God—I know it's annoying."

"I don't think it's annoying."

"Oh now you're just saying that."

"No I'm not!"

"Then he's brain-washed you. Oh I feel so terrible."

He made her laugh.

"No seriously…it's…" he made a noise of disapproval. "Unlike some people, I don't feel the need to burden others…with…_vocals…_" Coushander shook his head. "It's something between Saru and his—our father. Saru was…I might as well tell you, he was…the trouble child, if you can believe that," he said sarcastically. "And sometimes…that actually _meant_ trouble, more often than not. I remember one time he was playing with the scythe—did you ever play with a scythe as a child?"

"…Can't say that I have."

"Proves my point," he announced. "Anyway, he was fooling around with it, and he put…a sort of hex on it so the next time our father used it…he…wasn't happy," Coushander concluded, shaking his head, smiling. "'Funny though…It was a seal," he said. "And Saru did it so that…it moved. All by itself. It crossed the ravine and went into the neighbor's farm. Scared the hell out of him, too."

"Oh…my gosh…" Keiko uttered with a strange look to match the strange image.

"…Typical…" he shrugged. "He was grounded for three months. Took it rather well, considering…"

Hairo suddenly stopped ahead of them and intensely inhaled the ground as if it was food. The little grey dog starting pawing at the ground, and then he started digging, uncovering the brown dirt though pine needles and sand. He continued digging furiously as the two shinobi looked on curiously. They saw something was being uncovered—a small copper canister. It was about six inches in length, and one inch, round, in diameter—Hairo rolled it up with his nose once it was free and snatched it with his mouth. "Hairo, put that down…!" Kano said. But the dog decided to keep his shiny find and ran around excitedly as if he were going to bury it some place else. _"Hairo!"_ she called.

The dog circled back around and let the canister go, intending to kick it up with his nose, but Kousa came quicker and stopped it's roll with his foot and picked it up.

"…What is it?" Kano asked.

Coushander ignored the little dog barking and pawing on his pants and turned it over in his hands. "I have no idea," There were no signs of entry or seals, and it felt light as he turned it over again. He passed it to her and thought. "I guess…whoever planted the seals, planted those, too."

"Could be…but…gosh this is so strange. I have no idea…Should we bring it back with us…?"

He smiled. "Sure. Just to see Dalzen's reaction."

Her eyes widened again.

"Just _kidding…"_ he readily disclaimed. "Yes. Let's see what Saru can make of it. Or Takato—maybe it's emitting a chakra signal or something."

"If it were chakra based, then something would be near it or inside it."

"Oh, then…it's…a copper…tube…"

She smiled. "Looks like…"

Hairo begged to have it back, but they kept walking back to the northern town of Niatsu. A heavy downpour of rain kept them there for two days after they returned. The third day, under a thick wash-board of fog and mist, the group set out south, for the land just east of Aburatsu, in the basin of the brown mountains where Kiri no kuni was formed. It would be where one more person would stand in their way with the aid of his turtle, Daigoro. They spilt up again into two teams, with Keiko, Kousa, and Hairo's mission to scout the area and see if there were any more copper canisters. Kousa remember all they found was the stark white of the Kaguya, Kamenosuke.

Hairo ran ahead of them into the white fog; Coushander came after him when he suddenly called behind him, "Stay back!"

Kano didn't have to wonder long before she saw a patch of bones spike out of the ground in the same fashion as the ones that destroyed Jeremiah's home. She sprang back and looked on, but the fog was too dense—all she heard was a howl followed by intermittent 'tak' sounds. She realized what it was when she saw a tiny bend of silver light refract through the mist; she drew a kunai and waited—the sound rapped louder and she saw them emerge from the fog—Kousa skidded back, and the Kaguya slid gracefully, the white shirasaya bone in hand.

The girl looked at her teammate expectantly, as if she would ask him if she might go back to get help, but at the same time, she knew it'd be almost impossibly if the Kaguya's intentions were set. The shinobi's katana was still raised nearly to his waist. "…We didn't march over your turtle, did we…?" he asked politely.

The Kaguya's expression remained even. "You two again," he stated. "And I see you brought along a little dog. Where are the rest of you people?"

Coushander smiled to no one but himself. "They went back to Konoha. They got bored. Keiko and I just love this place so much, we couldn't bear to leave."

"Fascinating, but somehow I doubt—"

"You killed Jeremiah," Kousa suddenly said, his tone changing into a hardened one.

Kano looked between the two, hoping her teammate wouldn't become impulsive.

"I did…" the Kaguya admitted.

"You people—"

"Kousa…" Kano said placatingly. The anger in his voice was evident and dangerous. In the back of her mind, for his future and for her reference, she crossed Coushander out as a diplomat. The girl tensed and faced the Kaguya. "Have you been the one…who's set up…some copper tubing?"

Kamenosuke's brow raised, in the slightest. "Yes," he answered simply. "Kiri is fortunate to be around the site of electro-magnetic activity. My little experiment can receive and amplify that energy."

"You mean…" she looked at him strangely. "Beryllium?"

"Yes," he answered again. "Do you approve?"

"A-Approve? Why do it? That doesn't make any sense."

"They are energy receivers, and amplifiers of the natural field. For what purpose, I should not say."

"You shouldn't say a lot of things," Kousa observed. "But why don't you tell us who can use that energy. What's it for. D'you use it?"

"I cannot. And I will not say who can. You wouldn't live long enough to appreciate it."

"And the seals…" he continued. "Have you been planting those, as well?"

Kano could have sworn she saw the Kaguya smiled. It scared her in that instant like a touch of ice. "...No," he said after a while. "No. But…I am willing to show you the level of skill it takes to make one."

She forced herself to move slowly by his side; making it known she wasn't going to let him make her stand by. He looked at her questioningly. Kamenosuke raised the white bone and advanced.

The two shinobi split left and right, and Coushander continued the sword-fighting with the Kaguya. Kano watched where her teammate was leading him, and she quickly predicted where the Kaguya would land, and so she laid her hands on the ground and focused; an earth-style, _yominuma_. A small dark swamp emerged behind the Kaguya—he stepped back, his heel caught and he fell, but his body splashed in clear water.

"Dammit," Kousa cursed. His eyes scanned three-hundred and sixty degrees for the missing ninja. He looked at Kano just as she looked beyond him with wide eyes, "Get back!"

He retreated back in time to doge white blades—bones diving like birds on his position. "…I hate this guy…" he muttered next to her.

"Calm down—we can do this."

He looked at her dubiously, "We can do this…" he imitated dryly; he looked around. "So long as he sticks to sword play."

The Kaguya came down twenty feet in front of them. A green scroll laid on the ground and using blood from a superficial wound, activated it.

"Oh no…" Kano murmured.

"…What now?!"

"He used this before…don't get close to the turtles; don't let him lure you, stay away from them.

Kousa was surprised by the plurals; "There's more than one…?"

The Kaguya summoned three.

"…The hell?!"

"Tokutaro, Ginjiro, and Saburou…" she explained.

"You remembered," Kamenosuke observed.

The one named Tokutaro, on their left was the largest, his teal-green shell just under the Kaguya's elbow; Ginjiro, waist-height, was a blotched steel-grey with his head a bark brown, and on the right was the smaller, a rust-color shell just at the Kaguya's knee.

"Don't get near them," Kano warned him quietly.

"Why, they can out-run me?" he asked sarcastically.

"It's their shells—"

She didn't have time to explain as the Kaguya left the trop of turtles and went straight for Coushander. She was the two spring away, sensing what the Kaguya was aiming for—slowly, the turtles were forming into a fairly wide triangle. She prepared her juutsu again, but a blade came flying behind her and it grazed her shoulder. She moved and saw a clone form from a puddle of water yards behind her. "No…" she said. Quickly, she looked back to see the real body of the Kaguya luring Kousa towards the turtles.

She knew she didn't have the skills for close combat, so she kept on the move from Kamenosuke's clone and tried to keep track of her teammate. She also kept watch for Hairo, still missing.

Kamenosuke clearly had the advantage on the Konoha shinobi—Kousa's temper was getting the better of him. He thought he heard Keiko's voice call out "No!" when it was too late—the Kaguya , with a swing of the shirasaya, forced him into the plane within the trio of the giant turtles. Coushander didn't notice anything change until he noticed seals a top each of their shells. He realized it meant something when they changed writing—Kamenosuke advanced on him and forced Coushander to the edge of a created chakra field—it was a perimeter of chakra that activated between each of the turtles, locking him inside the field. The shinobi felt it stinging on his shoulder until he managed to skid askance, and then he took some distance from the Kaguya.

Since he was closed in, Kousa knew substitution juutsu was out of the question, so instead, as they broke for a fourth time, he focused in and remembered all the things Saru taught him. He let chakra flow through the steel of his blade; he concentrated on the wind affinity, giving it measure and brevity.

"This will end shortly," the Kaguya stared at him.

Kousa re-focused his gaze and tacitly had to agree with him.

The two engaged and still, Coushander held his own against the ninja. With the increase of the blade length due to the chakra, the shinobi gained confidence and succeeded again on catching the Kaguya on his shoulder, pushing him back to the edge of his own barrier. He observed he didn't physically hurt him as much as the ninja's well of pride. He came back fighting, and it was all Kousa could do to stay quick on his feet and forceful when he got the chance.

He lost track of Kano until he heard what sounded like a paper bomb go off somewhere in the haze of the forest. He didn't have time to look as he narrowly avoided a fast and lethal parry from the Kaguya. Kousa caught himself before he hit the field and dodged again—he nearly fell off-balance as he heard another bomb go off. He heard it short and sharper, and closer than the one before. He stared at the Kaguya and saw Kamenosuke was more than ready to end it. But the Kaguya's gaze looked as if it were slightly off. Coushander stood firm, ready to deflect it when Kamenosuke's shirasaya came down—right beside him, piercing the empty space right beside him. Coushander saw the Kaguya eerily smile and look genuinely satisfied with the way his sword came down.

"…The hell…?" Kousa took the respite and looked around in confusion and that's when he saw Saru and Dalzen ahead of him, and a kunai flying towards the Kaguya's back. It hit him in the shoulder and he heard his brother tell him to get out of the plane.

He did, as Dalzen threw three more kunai, forcing the turtles to disappear; they vanished in an intense white and clouded smoke. Kousa found the two and stared back; the Kaguya was crumpled; lying face down, unmoving.

Kousa could not take his eyes off him. "…Was…that…?"

"Genjutsu," Saru answered.

"…Really? My God—it worked," he said windily. "How the heck you find us? Where's Keiko?"

Saru smiled. "You have Takato to thank for that…"

Kano was with Takato; he was helping her walk, and they came over and she sat on the ground, a hand cradling the back of her neck.

"…You all right?" Kousa asked her.

"…Yeah," she smiled. "…You?"

He nodded—Saru looked around. "Where's Hairo?"

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I don't know!"

"I think Kamenosuke may have…" Coushander trailed uneasily.

"Where did you last see him?"

Kousa looked to his right and pointed. "That way, I think."

They found the little dog alone, his left hind leg injured. Kano healed him as best she could—stubborn as the grey puppy was, Coushander forced him to stay lying down at all times, so he could fully heal.

.

_186__th__ night, Moku, belated, quite foggy. Before he died, Kamenosuke's mind revealed to us our mystery element is actually a subtle energy receiver. The energy is drawn frm a matrix by magnetic fields. Used also as an amplifier of the energs gathred—God knows what for. I'm not a science guru, but Dalzn suggested someone might have the ability to use or sense these energies, thus possibly creating some kind of tracking system, or even increasing the energy. He said he wouldn't put it past an Uchiha 'to be involved in sophistication of this nature', or as Cou put it, 'occultism of that nature'. Our dog friend is stil recovering. It's a wonder he seemingly refuses to go back the summn world. Takato suggestd he may not know how to __go __back—Keiko concurred. Plan to-morrow._

.

But as Coushander was able to constantly remind himself, Saru-Shin's plans usually involved some level of Divine lunacy (to which he would credit to save himself from eternal damnation), but Coushander would also have to admit, after one could pass beyond the shock, they usually did succeed.

A month later, they were find leads of Razumo's whereabouts in Satsumasendai—the biggest lead finally changing Dalzen's mind to go back, being the unprompted return of Jeremiah's little yellow-eyed owl, Hoshu, who carried a broken genjutsu seal in it's beak, and a receipt from the same tavern they knew in Satsu. From there, it was Yuma.

The five found a small, wooden boat, and set out early the same night. Dalzen and Coushander were out in front, Saru and Takato in the middle, and Kano at the rear, Hairo fidgeting in her arms. But greyer than the water of that in a black cauldron, the sky was low, and dark. The breeze turned against them, coming up from the south, and about half an hour in, the breeze shifted into a steady wind, and it soon partnered with it's comrade in movement, rain. They could not hold their course, and so Dalzen and Kousa tried fruitlessly to reverse their course; the wind came up stronger and guided them straight north. Coushander was the first one to spot a small, blank and green isle—the wind and waves rolled them toward it vehemently. But half a mile off the coast, the boat rocked so violently it capsized. They found their way to shore except the little dog who fallen under behind Kano. But Takato performed a special jutsu, and Hairo came up on denser water under him, running through the waves.

It was until mid-morning the condition lessoned—their boat was torn and gone and lost—underneath the rolling blue slate. They could see an empty teal-green forest behind them, and ahead, through the fog, the faded mountains of water country. It was a tiny spec of coastline in the distance, compressed by an equally grey sky.

They needed no announcing they were stranded.

But worse as he felt, Coushander knew how to read his brother's stern, though sometimes slightly sloven appearance (in this case) and took comfort Saru had some kind of plan behind his cocky eyes. And so the man turned around and took in the group, and voiced what Coushander instinctively knew; "I've got an idea."

Hairo barked, fidgeting through Kano's arms, so she let him go.

Dalzen looked at their leader rather dubiously, as he made a habit of doing.

Coushander waited for the spontaneous idea.

"I was thinking…" he pointed back to the coastline, "We could walk back."

Four pairs of eyes suddenly widened—Hairo barked in approval or disapproval.

_Oh God, I'm not sure I can defend that,_ Kousa quickly thought; his eyes darted to Dalzen's face—the Morino was completely taken aback. The look was priceless. And suddenly, the idea became worth defending.

Keiko looked at the distance to cover—Takato looked incredulously at Coushander as if he'd already calculated it. Coushander resisted the urge to look; he knew his brother was perfectly serious.

Hairo barked again, wagging his tail, and Dalzen stared. "…Are you fucking crazy?" he asked directly.

"Well actually I'm—"

_"Not_ now…" Kousa interrupted.

"That must be…at least ten…twelve miles…!" Dalzen was livid. "Probably more!"

Saru smiled cordially, "What do you suggest?"

"Look, look," Kousa broke in again, for fear his teammates temper. "It's insane," he granted. "Very…insane…But it's definitely an option," He finally looked behind him and against all the skepticism of the concept, he had to say again, "It's definitely an option…"

"Well. We've all seen the tide is much calmer now…if anyone else has a suggestion, please, I'm well open to it."

No one did.

Kano stood up, clutching the vest Takato had lent her and she looked at the distance for the umpteenth time and then down at the little grey dog. "…I'd have to carry Hairo," she smiled awkwardly.

Kousa felt proud for Saru's sake she woke up feeling brave. "I can carry him," he offered.

"No, no…" Dalzen broke the happy union. "This is…truly insane. How could we _possibly _last that long over open water? I've never heard it done. It's insane. It's absolutely _insane_."

"…Actually," Saru smiled at him a little too broadly, "I heard of it once from the Secret-Sharer, Shodai gave me the Super-Secret List."

Dalzen's response was lethally mute in a dead-set glare.

"Everything from running into water country and Kiri nin, to destination sites of the outer islands," Saru continued lightly. "So if you do have a better idea, tell me so now, or forever hold your peace. Coushander and I went five miles off the coast of rice country, too much more, I felt, wouldn't have pushed it."

Coushander looked at him in small surprise of, we did? He quickly racked his brain for a record of the event and came up with only the boat incident on the sandbar and he said, "Oh! Yes! Yes, we did," he said with some exuberance, minding the color that flushed to his checks. No one could see it anyway. "Yes—that was, yes." _At a sand bar,_ he thought. _We couldn't have drowned like we could here…_

Bored, Hairo started walking around Keiko's ankles. Within seconds, he became intrigued by what was following him on his hind side.

Dalzen's doubts were not assuaged in the least. "Fine," he said shortly, with the full belief of failure in his mind. "Fine. We'll do it our way."

Coushander was surprised Dalzen gave up, normally his stubbornness hung over him for a longer time than that like the all the grey clouds that would gladly hang over for a hundred years or more. Clearly, the tall Morino was now waiting for them all to down horrible deaths, and here Kousa remembered he'd volunteered himself to carry the dog. So, he resolved his mind to take on the job with determination. Even if all of them perished, he would see the dog made it. "…Hairo," he called.

The dog broke his dizzy fixation and stumbled midway.

Coushander had to rethink: it didn't look too good for the dog after all…

So they secured their packs, their kunai, Coushander's katana (to which Hairo snapped at from time to time), had the option of kissing the ground, and their captain was the first one to take that long and brazen step onto the cold and grey water. Coushander followed him; Hairo at first, swimming excitedly in his arms; Takato and Keiko came after with some hesitant apprehension, and then came the tall Morino at the rear.

Besides the rating of lunacy to the idea, the trek also offered a more than clear rating on each of the ninja's endurance: Keiko was first to fall.

It was nearly at the half-way point where she lost all focus and inadvertently dived straight into the water. Dalzen was closest and quickly came to pull her out and he held her shoulders until she stood on her own. She'd been last in line for the past two miles, and Dalzen knew he was asking a stupid question, yet he asked it; "Can you make it?"

"Y-Yes," she said, all the while staring at her feet continually analyzing how much chakra she needed to keep above the waves. "I think so—thank you."

Dalzen shook his head in futility.

Saru was keeping in the middle of the pack, and he tracked back—Dalzen shot him a superior glance and went on ahead. Saru looked at her, "If you need help, lean on me."

She nodded. Her cheeks were red; her face showed trepidation.

"Try not to think about it too much," he told her. "Don't think, _do_."

Another two miles, Takato, too, was staring at his feet constantly, and Keiko faltered again—both Kousa and Saru heard advanced warning as she blurted frustratingly, "Oh shit," But Saru was close enough to catch her arm. He had to hold her weight for more than two minutes as she tried to regain her balance.

Coushander had never heard the girl swear, and it was obvious it was directed at no one but herself. He noticed Takato too had stopped again in a clumsy respite—Hairo, once asleep, now wanted to jump from Kousa's arms to his real master. Still, Kousa kept a numb grip on the dog and look looked at Takato, "It's best to keep moving."

"I know," he said slowly. "H-How's Hairo?"

"Well, I'd knock on driftwood if I could. He needs to learn how to sit still…for once."

Ahead of him, a low voice suggested, "I could knock him out for you."

Coushander glared at Dalzen. _Puppy-beater…_Kousa thought.

He saw Dalzen nearly smile beneath his angry brow; "Just a suggestion."

Oblivious to their conversation Saru and Kano were moving again. "You guys coming?" their captain asked.

"Yeah…" Coushander answered for them. But Hairo was too excited for the sum of them and leapt out of Coushander's arms to follow their leader, as if he expected to land softly on the waves.

Well he didn't.

"…Bad dog…!" Kousa uttered before he spun to get him. But Coushander's balance was instantly off and he dived in with him.

Dalzen looked on and did not move an inch.

Takato moved in after them and instead of taking his arm, he made a sign as before and knelt and put his hands to the water, creating a steady chakra shelf Hairo instantly climbed on, and fell off of. Coushander pulled himself up and nodded that he had his balance. The jutsu ceased, and Coushander steadily came to the dog's position and picked him up. "Bad dog," he said. "Very bad, bad dog." Coushander looked at Takato, "Thanks," he said. He whispered again to the wet dog, "Bad. Very bad." And looking ahead to Dalzen's position out in front, the amoral stare he received was worse than he felt in falling.

Another two miles, Coushander gauged they still had another two to go.

He felt as if he couldn't make another step. Like the others, he watched his feet instead of focusing on the goal. He was concentrating solely on the chakra output he had to re-adjust constantly, in the slightest, before and after each step. And then…

Hairo barked for no apparent reason.

Coushander skidded clumsily and nearly fell backwards until Takato strongly caught his arm. "Dammit," he said, re-finding his balance "Thanks again."

The boy nodded. "I-I can take him," he offered.

"Naw, I can do it," he said stubbornly, remembering his vow. "So how are you holding up?"

"I…" he started uneasily. "Can make it…" came out slowly. "But…I'm not sure about…Keiko…"

Coushander looked ahead, and then behind; Takato was right. She was visibly flustered and close to tears; completely focused on her feet. Still, she was relying on Saru's help—stumbling at intervals moreso than the rest of them. Kousa looked forward and saw Dalzen, like the lone black flag of their pack, walking slowly toward the coast. Watching him, he had a sudden urge to be out in front; so he nodded to Takato and felt for the last of his strength to march toward the coastline.

With only a half a mile to go, Kano discovered, by way of falling again, the shelf was high enough she knew she would not drown. She let herself catch her breath, and still, she let Saru help her up, and all five finished the last leg and walked onto the shore; Hairo and Coushander their leaders. Dalzen came behind them, and Takato a third to Keiko and Saru's fourth and fifth.

And before he knew it, Hairo flung himself out of Coushander's numb arms and ran around the beach like he had all the energy in the world. He ran around the beach under the massive cliff and through the tall yellow grass and stones below. The shinobi collapsed in succession as well—all but Saru, who stood calmly, taking off his pack first. Stiffly, he bent down and fish for a small shawl he gave to Kano.

Coushander looked up at his brother and from pure adrenaline smiled. "Now that's what I call…a walk through water country."

Saru flashed him a grin and stood again, looking across at Dalzen, sitting on Kousa's far right. "How many miles was it?"

Without looking, "Ten point five—I could be off, so I round to eleven."

Coushander stared at him—"You counted?"

Dalzen nodded.

"Oh nice…" Kousa muttered.

Hairo came running back and flung himself at Kano. She pet him once wearily and then he ran off to inspect the other men; he ran to Saru and Coushander and Takato and then Dalzen, who readily shooed him off. Hairo came back around to Keiko and barked wildly. She looked as if she barely had the fortitude left in her to smile.

.

The diary's pages were stiff and crisp after Saru-Shin carefully forced each of them apart to inspect the damage. He was surprised to see the ink had held his rather illegible style in clarity. So her turned back to the page where he left off and quickly scribbled, _Do—Nichiyou; troupe is sleeping off a faild trip to Yuma in quest of Kiz. 217. _He stopped and closed the journal when he saw his brother waking. Kousa came over and he put it away. But as he did, Saru saw a curious dark mass in the bottom of his pack. He peeled it off the bottom and saw it was seaweed.

Coushander grinned as Saru dropped it on the sand. "I think I hate going to Yuma," he said with some conviction.

Saru smiled—through the clouds he could only see one bright star, and he knew at once it was the north star. He turned his attention back to his sleeping team, and Kousa realized they were looking at the same thing.

Coushander whispered, "He's going to back-stab you, you know that, don't you?"

Saru-Shin grinned; _"Oh ye of little faith."_

"Me! _Me_ of little faith!" Kousa shook his head. "That impossible—I mean _he's_ impossible," he continued quietly.

Saru frowned. "Talk like that is worse than swearing."

Coushander stared and then rolled his eyes. "…You've got more patience that I do, Saru, that's for _damn_ sure," he swore again.

"Well, you know…" Saru smiled. "I have noticed something very peculiar…about _you._"

"Me? What? What did I do?"

"You haven't taken that mask off since we started. Not I think it's been plastered to your face…" Saru made a move as if to pull it down, but Coushander swatted his hand away.

"You know I can't take it off," he said resolutely. He was about to argue his point when Saru interrupted him quietly. "Yes but has the reason changed from me, or has the reason changed to you?"

Kousa was surprised into silence. Saru smiled faintly. "Face it, he punned. "It seems like you wear it rather religiously."

"_Do not_," he refuted harshly in hopes of ending the discussion. He knew Saru would never say such a think unless he meant it, which led Kousa to a feeling he didn't really want to admit.

Saru shrugged. "Your choice—Something to think about…You know, it's been seven months on this island?"

"Really?" Coushander looked at him. "However does time fly…"

And of course he expected the adage required no answer, but Saru stated the obvious proudly; "It was wings, _of course!"_

"_Sa-ru.."_ Kousa playfully jabbed his shoulder.

Saru-Shin was like a kid.

Uchiha Razumo was a patriot, in the fullest sense of the word.

He was a sojourn, not as to that of a countryman, as so many banded together in Konohamaru, but to the Uchiha clan itself, and with it, their age old belief in strength and duty, which too often expressed itself in total superiority. And it was to that end he stood fixedly in any situation that might benefit only those to his blood, and his blood only. For the blood of their birthright was so often superior, he thought one day, why no it be sacrosanct? Why not it be first? Above all else? Above all others? It was toward that immaculation he accepted the request in the first place. Coming in second to the Senju, he could not accept. A failed sense of latent superiority, he was one of the few not to accept. He did not buy into Konohamaru just yet.

But the challenge he and Madara shared was first to defeat complacency, the defeat of defeatism so many in his clan fell to. Of course, in their perversion, it was a peace, a reconciliation. But Kizuato's hungry eyes saw it as stupidity. He saw it as weakness. He saw it second-rate. But with so many of his clan gone to their structure with the Senju, those that held this anger knew they couldn't not rage a war properly with their eyes half-open or with their heads just above the open sea. They could not rage a war with orders. He understood it was all through will, and through that will, there was the fight. The right way, the smart way; on the basis that their clan alone had the right to the 'reconciliation'. For all the two built already, a sense of laziness, tiredness grew amoung his clan like a massive genjutsu of laxity. And with it, it seemed to take a prong off their holy bloodline trait, and with that, who they were entirely. Madara was wise to see it first. He was wise to foresee the third concept: they could be beaten. He said nothing was immutable in the shinobi's world, and Razumo believed him fully. And Madara also gave him these small seeds of ideas to corrupt and sow anywhere he could. Even in the darkest of places, the spouts find their way to light.

.

The group made it all the way to Yuma the second time and found not Kizuato, but Tsunami, whom they found to be the second Uchiha in water country. She was with a young Kiri ninja; a woman who was the leader of the second pack installed in Yuma, as the first one was challenged by Coushander and Dalzen. Effectively, the Uchiha used her and them as a prop and a distraction as the teams were split so they could go in and destroy the second base. Tsunami fled back to the mainland, taking the boat method of transportation, and the girl was spared.

But as the Konoha team came back to Satsumasendai (via a fisherman's boat), they were surprised to see Sage and Jin were there, waiting for them, along with Haruda's sister, Naoko, who hurriedly told them her news. Haruda had ordered homicide of a prominent daimyo, planting one of his people in his place. So they took on her lead, and for a month, they spent dissuading Haruda's people, to Dalzen's disapproval. But their findings let them continue to track Tsunami, and then Razumo; sometimes in groups, mostly together. But when Keiko tried to summon another dog, she succeeded. It was a small, red hunter. It was clear that it was the reason Hairo had not returned to the summon world. He'd been picked continually by those dogs. The two eventually ended up working together through another three months, and by that time, Hairo willingly returned, and the troupe had closely back-tracked to the misty fogs and icy haze of Kiri itself. But Jer's owl had not forgotten them.

It brought to them a snapped off twig of the white bone that still stood through a dilapidated house.

The little owl stared at Dalzen strangely, and the Morino saw an image of their Uchiha just north of Satsu.

They decided to head south.

The forest south was cerulean and a dark forest green; clearings every twenty yards due to the high elevation. They knew now exactly where the Uchiha were. And it was a wonder Dalzen again caved and agreed to the teams, Coushander too had a queer-eyed looked of question—he and Takato would hold up Tsunami and flank the west side while Saru, Dalzen, and Kano would be at the east. Saru had a plan to give Razumo a direct confrontation. He never acted more confident that at that time, because, he said simply, the Uchiha was beatable because his ideal was beatable. It was not merely to think of the murder of the man, but importantly, of his plans. They witnessed Tsunami as callous, they witnessed the seeding of some of the Kaguya clan with more wars to fight (as if they needed more), they'd seen it with Haruda and the docks and the drunken Wolf. But as Saru was quick to remind Dalzen, it was not just them; Naoko had come forth, Sage and Jin; the old Jeremiah, all of them. Because, as Saru had also said, this would probably be their only prime chance at Razumo.

Coushander once thought dark colors seemed to vortex and spin out of that man. And given water country, those colors easily bled not with a roaring fire, but that of a roaring wave. The periwinkle and cerulean of that country seemed grey with unseen storms and wind. The Kaguya too wore dirty whites inflicted in alliance to that immeasurable current, the sheer orange of Haruda's hair seemed needy with power. And their mysterious vanishing point that was Uchiha Razumo was shrouded in a dark and deep forest grey, perhaps the only faint color to trace his roots back to Konoha. Coushander could remember.

And lo, of all the sunshine north of Satsu that morning, the colors of the shadows were all that he felt, and were tacit reminders of the array of dark persons never spoken of in the light of day.

Save Kiri.

For the Kaguya had welcomed him easily enough; Haruda walked with him; and their connections sprang like tall buildings to hide the one thing lining them all. The furnishings, weapons. The decorum, maps, plans, contingencies. The rugs, victims. The windows, boarded.

Until now.

For both Saru-Shin and Shodai, during the course of the initial briefing of the plan, were both men of heeding signs and portents, and both of the thought that you don't start a fight, but you must be able to finish it.

Coushander believed that too.

And years and years ago, who could remember now which side started the fight…? Who could say for certainty, besides either of the Senju or the Uchiha, which side marred each others hooves for the first time since the lonely sage of the six paths? Who could say where and when it really started, only that it continued? Only a brave man could admit to it, and so did Shodai, with weariness in his coal eyes as if that land of fire he fought for so long kindled them so. And Monkey accepted it, readily.

It didn't matter now who started it, Coushander remembered he once told them. And honestly, it wouldn't matter who ended it, so long as the two sides stopped the cycle of hatred. For, Saru believed, shinobi fought to save one another. Life is a precious thing. Who could end it? But to have the patience to end it was a trait only one man possessed. And so in secret, Madara was taking precursory measures; and as he took in length, Shodai took in width, in that of Saru's five-man team with his own rules of engagement.

Which included humming (and singing).

…Coushander and Takato both heard Saru whistle a tune, and that's when they knew it was clear to go. In the distance, they saw the other three move away to a different position. Kousa laid his left hand on the hilt beside him, hold it out at all times; he and Takato moved out with gentle caution. There were approaching the outskirts of a small town along that eastern coast. The two ninja stooped short one more time and waited for the second signal, a mass genjutsu only their Dalzen could procure. But it was to mimic the Kaguya's skills in that a small area of the town would be engulfed in a white bush of bone. Through the treeline, Kousa and Takato saw Dalzen kneel down and make hand seals.

Kousa saw a white bush come bursting out of the ground, growing and rolling north into the town until he stopped the illusion himself by shifting his chakra. Beside him, Takato had already done the same, and the two waited. Saru and Kano pulled back, Saru going right, and Kano, left.

Since only Dalzen could sense anyone unaffected by the field, the four watched him for any signs of the two Uchiha. Dalzen was there for a minute until he turned back and shook his head, releasing the jutsu. The process repeated again, and this time, they went west.

Coushander watched Dalzen closely the second time. He imagined their luck had soured altogether as he saw the tall man stand and release the jutsu. But then he saw the Morino turn around and turn back strangely. Dalzen turned back one more time and Coushander and Takato together saw two figures; both in clothes of a deep gray. Collectively, their hair color was black and their very presence seemed ethereal. They seemed not to belong, and as far as the shinobi were told, they were never supposed to belong.

And the trio stared at each other.

It continued for a minute—Coushander was self-sure they weren't talking—they were still as stone statues.

Finally, he saw Dalzen move one step backward—the taller figure drew a kunai—Dalzen retreated, and the two pursued.

Coushander purposefully drew in a short breath and ran after them; Takato followed.

They found Dalzen distracting them with paper bombs—Saru and Keiko were nowhere in sight. But Kousa found his brother immediately where he'd been staking out, unmoving on a low branch of a tree. He concluded it must have been a genjutsu, so Kousa tapped his brother's foot and Saru came alive again. "Find Keiko," Coushander told Takato. "Come on," he said to Saru. Coushander headed straight for the site of the last blast.

Saru and Kousa saw the three at a standstill again—in a small clearing between two treelines; the two figures in the center. Saru threw a kunai at them—intentionally missing: it stopped short at the back of the tall man's feet. He turned around and saw the four of them—Coushander and Saru, Keiko and Takato.

The man—and woman were also wearing red eyes.

"Which one of you is Saru?' the man asked.

"I am," Saru nodded.

"So…you're Monkey," he remarked. "What an interesting trick."

"You know what we're here for," Saru-Shin said evenly.

"Indeed I do. And, vice-versa?"

Saru said nothing.

Coushander's heart pumped furiously through the silence. It was unnerving, yet his brother didn't seem to mind.

Razumo smiled. "Comitatus is not without sacrifice," he said. "You should know by now it's every man for himself."

Saru considered his words for a moment. He continued a level gaze; "But it's the bonds that make it worthwhile," he said plainly.

"Karada brainwashed you."

"…Just a little," Saru smiled.

It was blurry what happened next;

…_Remember…?_

Razumo did not make a hand seal and still, issued a full-force genjutsu—Dalzen and Saru were the only ones prepared for it; Kousa was nearly bulled aside save for those two. The next moment, he had a tap on his shoulder, and he woke up with Takato and Keiko. And Dalzen was off again to aid their captain.

Kousa regained some level of his senses, and sense of time, and nodded to the other two. Kousa's aim was for Tsunami—perceived to be (slightly) the weaker of the two. He and Takato had a plan to separate her from Razumo, and they started on it. They used kunai to edge her away from the men and they gave Keiko the signal to use her dark swamp technique to further the separation. It succeeded, and they chased her into the forest---Kano stayed behind for Saru and Dalzen.

Coushander had little experience fighting, let alone someone he knew of this caliber. He suspected Takato hadn't either, so being psychologically green to all this—he hadn't thought to think they were the ones being led away: it was deeper into the forest on the north side, into a thick grove of teal trees; most pines. She stopped and Kousa saw her making hand signs. He threw a kunai to disrupt the jutsu and he watched Takato pursue her further. She halted again and Coushander decided to try his hand at close combat; he drew the katana and marched.

She possessed no counter blade to draw other than a black kunai knife. Coushander immediately succeeded in wounding her superficially, another green mistake he had not yet realized. She retreated and Kousa began to realize it as she took the blood to her thumb; she was going to summon. He saw from the corner of his eye Takato was unable to stop her.

And everything that was around them suddenly turned to colors of white and grey, and the smoke did not dissipate until the wind of the actual summon could blow it away.

The wind was incredibly strong; the two shinobi were forced to look up.

There were three, large, grotesque-looking oni, gazing vacantly over the treeline.

Coushander was speechless. _…Oh dear God,_ he thought after a moment. "…You _have_ to be kidding me…" His throat was dry.

He didn't know Takato landed right beside him until he heard a tentative, _"…What to we do…?"_

"…Short of…" Coushander lost the train of thought as one of them shifted. "…Staying alive?" Kousa suggested afterwards.

Tsunami had perched herself on a high tree limb—she stood near the far left one's shoulders. Coushander noticed her and saw another something he failed to analyze. It was something whitish-grey about her neck; it was a necklace, and he noticed it was familiar to all three of the summons, wearing chains of them about their necks, like a string of rocks.

"Oh dear God," Coushander finally voiced.

"W-What should we do…?" Takato asked again.

"How the hell should I know?!" Kousa exclaimed frantically. "This is way out of the fucking—" Coushander lost the train of thought again. He was thinking 'in the books' when he realized there were none, or 'job description' when he thought normal jobs didn't usually involve mortality statistics. He saw Tsunami touched the crystal-rock about her neck and she was mouthing something. He never heard it, but he understood it, because one of the demons slowly moved his large eyes and directed them through the trees to see the two small shinobi beneath.

It was then Coushander knew exactly what to do. "Run."

The ogre stretched out his hand and uprooted a tree easily as it had pulled a loose weed.

"Get at her…" Coushander shouted to his teammate—he jumped another branch as the center oni plucked that one. Quickly, Coushander circled around and saw her mouthing orders to the other two to form a triangle blockade of sorts—the way Kamenosuke formed a barrier with his turtles. The shinobi sought to stay on balance as the ground shook and vibrated violent with the summons' every step. And despite not knowing what to do about the oni, he knew getting the Uchiha was really his only option. He reaffirmed a grip on his blade and watched for Takato to back him up, with any luck.

Tsunami easily evaded he ninja, and Coushander was nearly taken away by one of the summons, plucking out the tree with one hand—Coushander circled back and he reunited with Takato briefly, who vowed to cover him as Kousa pursued the woman. The two split up again as a tree twenty metres to their right was uprooted.

Dirt slung at his eyes, and pine needles stabbed him as they feel like rain. Coushander shooed them off, and he had to physically turn round as Takato performed a water-style jutsu—having little effect at blocking the oni's massive fist. It grabbed another tree and the wind of the removal knocked them both straight down to the ground. Now wet, more dirt rained on him and stuck, but through his blurry vision, he saw the Uchiha standing right there, atop the shoulder of her huge creation. Coushander felt the ground rumble as the other two oni moved in closer. "Fuck," he cursed. Takato came to his left and helped him up. Coushander looked at him. "So what do we do?"

"W-Well…It'd help…if we had some kind of…long range jutsu. Like wind or-or something."

"Oh well now, that's incredibly funny," Kousa muttered. "Saru says I'm a wind-type, but I don't know anything."

"Oh…"

"Exactly," Kousa wiped his face, "But," he thought, looking down as his clean blade. "I can try something. But I think we should go for that necklace."

Takato nodded in agreement.

A final rumble vibrated intensely behind them.

Tsunami dropped from her perch and took to a tree limb beside a torn bare-spot of land. "Psychomancy," she said to them. "Communication with spirits."

"…You're…psychic? "Coushander questioned dubiously.

She said nothing; smiling.

Kousa wanted to rolls his eyes in insanity, but there were already burning. "And what's that about your neck, a radio?"

"Beryllium," she answered. "And a seal."

"…Figures…" Kousa muttered. His heart was pounding again inside his chest.

"Get them," Tsunami said. She retreated.

The trio of oni each pulled a tree as somehow their clubs, and started swatting, with a violent downward thud enough to crush a house easily. The two shinobi already spilt quickly, Coushander determined to get the woman. He caught sight of her catching a ride with one of her monsters and impulsively, he leapt after her, diverting his chakra to his feet like Saru had taught him. Mid-air, he took extended chakra to the blade; he swung and it missed her and the oni—and it was only when he landed and looked back up did he see that the chakra he affixed to the sword grazed the oni's arm. He heard the beast give a low moan of pain.

Coushander had another succession of hits/misses as Takato backed him up with the water wall jutsu; blocking fists and trees. Their attempts were more effective as they worked more in sync, and as they felt more desperate. Kousa succeeded in de-stabilizing the demon she rode on, and as she tried changing perches, she drew her kunai and aimed it square at the swordsman on the ground. He realized what she was doing in enough time, and it was instinct he suggested to himself he use Saru's super secret technique—he shifted his feet, anticipating all factors: the kunai came down at him; Coushander caught it easily on the ring; spun it and flung it back at her. It struck on her necklace band, piercing the cord along with her collarbone.

She fell somewhere north, but that was the least of his concern as he watched intently on what the oni would do without the crystal attached to her. The only thump Kousa heard was a soft one as Takato appeared beside him. He'd seen what Coushander had done. "How'd you do that?" the boy exclaimed.

Coushander looked around—there was dead silence around them. He watched the nearest oni stand still blankly. "Are they…?" he heard Takato wonder.

"I don't know," Coushander said cautiously.

"You…" she cursed at him.

Kousa turned around in surprise and saw her clutching her neck, void of the rock she'd held.

"Get them!" she shouted.

The oni still did nothing but look at each other oddly.

Kousa raised his blade.

She reached for the kunai—it was bloodied; her Sharingan eye still activated.

Coushander charged at her and still she deflected it well—she could predict his movements easily thought the wind chakra coming off the blade still grazed her.

Kousa backed off as he felt the ground quake—one of the demons was moving. He soon realized it was towards them, where it seemed intrigued by the trio of ninja as any large think is attracted to the habits and movements of every small thing. All three were now their targets.

"Get them!" Tsunami shouted, but the oni's tree-club swatted at both.

The two Konoha ninja retreated and reunited and pursued the woman. But the oni's amusement still had to be taken in to account. Coushander saw one of the oni was trudging off—and the third hindered by his wounds. He caught sight of Tsunami trying to hide; he moved fast and caught her backside with an angry swing; she fell, the chakra piercing further than the blade itself.

"_Coushander!"_

He spun back around and saw a tree flying at him—Takato stopped it with the water wall; but the oni was right behind—Coushander took a chance with the last of his strength and aimed for the demon's necklace as he leapt off the fallen tree. He didn't know if his hit had been successful as he crashed back down clumsily; but he'd heard some kind of blast before the fall knocked him out.

.

Dalzen felt like he was playing the game of tag with his own teammates. Of course he never played the game as child, so naturally, he was making up for it now. And he did not enjoy it.

He freed Saru a fourth time from Razumo's genjutsu, and at the time, it felt like one more than his captain was entitled to. Collectively, the two told Keiko to hold her position back—Saru and Dalzen proved to be the only ones with enough quickness in them to keep up—it was all Saru was counting on as the illusion had gotten to him once again. But Dalzen growing vastly tired of it, and what was worse, Razumo was not.

The Uchiha tried again, and Dalzen deflected it easily.

"…Remarkable," the man commented—there was a tantou in his hand, crimson eyes on the Morino. "I have never met anyone who has done what you have done," the Uchiha considered him. "I wonder—perhaps Jeremiah had something to do with this."

Dalzen said nothing.

The Uchiha was trying to provoke something out of him. "I've lasted battle with Senju. No man is gifted—he learned it somewhere."

Dalzen eyed him, recognized another trigger object. He broke the genjutsu before it began. "I am not inclined to tell you at all where I learned it."

"You're different than the others," he said, considering, with an intense look. "You're…You're Morino, aren't you?"

A quick flash of emotion crossed the shinobi—Razumo set in a new jutsu, but this time Saru caught it and this time, returned one of the tags he owed his teammate—Dalzen was surprised he fell for it.

Razumo smiled.

"Try and get him again, and I'll use the jutsu."

"It won't work," Dalzen repudiated harshly.

"Trust me," Saru returned.

And though the Morino possessed zero confidence, he nodded futily.

"I knew your uncle," Razumo look at him.

Saru watched Dalzen carefully. "Don't let him get to you." He said quietly.

"Yes; I can see it now, exactly where your lineage comes from."

"Dalzen," Saru sad, "Ignore it and start the jutsu."

Dalzen shifted uneasily. His throat was too dry to say anything.

"_Dalzen!"_ Saru said again.

"…I…can't…"

So Saru took the initiative, drew two kunai and aimed for the Uchiha.

Kizuato evaded and Saru pursued him.

"…Dalzen!" Saru called.

But his teammate could not move and the Uchiha, striking fast, slashed Saru square in the chest. The shinobi fell and Razumo wiped the short blade clean before turning his attention to the Morino.

Dalzen looked up and suddenly Razumo stopped, quickly realizing he'd been fooled. With his eyes, he tried reflecting the genjutsu back—he gained control of his movements as Saru's kunai embedded itself in his side, under his shoulder. Saru pulled it out and tried again but the blade only undid an insanely fast substitution jutsu the Uchiha performed. "Damn!" He turned back to Dalzen and saw Razumo. Saru repressed his urge to search for the Morino, and instead, disturbed his own chakra to free himself from the genjutsu.

But Razumo did not disappear.

Quickly, Saru scanned around, but he did not see the Morino. He looked back at Kizuato—his shirt bloody from the wound. Suddenly, Razumo stepped aside—Dalzen was behind him, face down, collapsed. "...Dalzen!" Saru exclaimed.

And Saru woke up a few moments later, face down on the ground himself, Dalzen and Razumo locked in combat behind him. Saru staggered too as the two broke apart. Razumo retreated back, the wound on his should still there.

Saru felt dizzy.

Dalzen felt worse.

"This is real…right?" Saru wanted to confirm.

Dalzen's weary eyes were on the Uchiha. "Far as I know. What now; do we run yet?"

"No," Saru answered.

"Dammit, I can't take much more of this."

"Neither can I, which is why we're going to end it."

"How the fuck do you propose that?"

"Let me think."

Dalzen threw his hands down by sighing loudly. "Wonderful," he said genuinely. "You do that."

Saru studied the wound he caused on Razumo. It was very real. "We know he bleeds."

"So the fuck do we." Dalzen retorted. "And in case you haven't noticed, he still has twice the stamina both us have."

"Honestly, what do you take me for?"

"A cocky-headed fool"

"Well…" Saru said. "It's nice to finally clear the air."

A moment passed.

"Dammit! That's it!"

"What?"

"Be quick Dalzen, and I'll give you the opening. Attack when you've got the chance."

Dalzen was persuaded again by his captain's change of voice. "Fine," he said gruffly. "But you do know you can't make any hands signs, right?"

"Oh…shit…"

Dalzen suddenly smiled faintly.

Saru saw this and grinned. "Blind him for me."

"Sure."

Saru knelt down. "And use that scroll, will you?"

"… What scroll?"

"You know the one."

But Dalzen wasn't entirely sure what his captain meant; still, he walked forward with purpose and wondered what sort of trigger object to use for his genjutsu. He readily decided on a rudimentary one that Jeremiah recommended in his studies—himself. And it was thinking of the old man that he finally knew what Saru mean by the 'scroll'. The only trouble was he didn't have it with him.

But Saru did.

Dalzen's scenario bought him less than thirty seconds. In that time, Saru tossed him the small scroll; the shinobi took it, opened it, and activated it—he backed off when Saru's jutsu took hold. It was paralyzation jutsu.

The two knew it was another prime chance for Razumo to finish them off since he did not have to move to initiate a genjutsu. But Dalzen knew he had to fall for it when he saw what had just flapped down from the treeline. The shinobi forced himself to react to what Saru was already reacting to—kunai on their position Dalzen quickly made eye contact as he knew the real Uchiha was walking toward them calmly, tantou in hand. "Come on," he prayed—Dalzen transferred a counter genjutsu via the small brown owl in the trees; "Work!"

The owl hooted and with it, bellowed a small change in the air; Razumo's genjutsu stopped, and with it, his real body did as well; Dalzen saw his blade had been inches away from his throat. The shinobi backed off slowly—he reached into his pocket, pulled a kunai from it silently, raised it…and the Uchiha blocked just as he thrust it. "…Every single time…" Dalzen grappled with him; "And still!"

And still, it happened in a fast and immeasurably quick way.

Saru-Shin stabbed the Uchiha to the front; embedding the blade in the man's kidney.

Time slowed to an unbearable crawl as the man, the Uchiha fell before them, face down.

Moments passed in total silence.

Finally, the owl hooted up from the treeline, and spread it's wings to fly away into the forest.

"…You…couldn't wake up, a second sooner?"

Saru continued disrupting his chakra in tired disbelief.

"Dalzen…!"

He thought the voice was Saru's but it was from a woman.

Saru looked behind him to see Kano—Dalzen knelt to the ground, cradling his head.

"Stay with him," Saru said to her.

He looked around and saw the other two coming out of the western treeline to his left. Saru ran over to them—Takato was supporting Coushander who had been limping crookedly. "You two all right?"

"…Twisted my ankle," Kousa said, with an equally contorted face. "…Landed wrong…of course."

He looked them both over. "...That all?!"

"Sure…" he said wearily. "But speak louder…we've got…_massive_…amounts of dirt—well, everywhere…"

.

The troupe recovered slowly.

Dalzen was out of it for a good two days, and Coushander too, was confined by his foot; which did not by any means hamper his mouth.

"..Yes, you said that," Kano said again.

"But they were God awful _huge!"_ he continued, flailing his arms. "I never ever knew you could summon things that big. I mean Hairo's an absolute ant compared to those monstrosities."

"They weren't that big," Takato mumbled in response to his first comment.

Keiko laughed.

"It wasn't funny then," Coushander folded his arms. "It was scary," He saw Takato did not argue. "And I wish I coulda summoned something of my own," Kousa continued. "Like a lady…giant. That would have been interesting. Or—Or maybe a really large bee…" He saw his teammate grin. "Yeah…" he nodded conclusively. "But at least they left us with copious amounts of dirt and pine needles to clean out for the rest of our lives. I think every now and then I'll find dirt spec in my hair to remember the time I fought an Uchiha. God—what a weird…and horrific turn of events…three summons…all the size of…" he still had trouble describing it.

Keiko moaned silently as she knew she was probably about to hear it again.

"No—really…" Coushander thought.

Saru looked over. "Practicing?" he asked him.

"…_Wha…?_ Who, me?" Kousa clarified. "For what?"

Saru grinned. "For your war horse speeches."

Coushander scoffed. "Oh come _on…"_

"It was due north…west of Satsu…" Saru smiled.

Kousa swatted at him, not reaching. "I am _so_ not _listening…!"_

And yet, the recovery was short-lived in that division came afterwards, and it traced a happenstance in whish the team for many months would never recover from. Saru pronounced that there work was not done. And Dalzen, for three days silent, suddenly spoke and pronounced it was. And he spoke it with as much conviction as they'd ever seen him have.

"No," he said simply.

"Why not?"

"Our original mission is completed…" Dalzen thought hazily. "However that was done," he shook his head (and regretted it); "There's no reason to pursue Haruda now."

"…Yeah," Kousa granted. "But who's to say another Uchiha is going to come along and knock on his door? I know it's a pain, but—"

"It stretches the bounds of our_ original_ mission," Dalzen repeated forcefully. "And if another Uchiha comes, we will not be as lucky."

"Well?" Saru prompted them.

Takato shrugged.

"I'm not sure…" Keiko said with reservation. "I mean…Well…my dad always said if you're going to do a job, you've got to do it thoroughly, right…? I don't mind…"

"We're not here to rusticate!" Dalzen said, crossing his arms defiantly.

"That true," Coushander granted him again. "So…we won't. We'll get him and go," he retorted with a brash smile marring underneath his mask.

Dalzen sneered.

"Honestly, I'm—I don't know about any of you, but I'm surprised by myself. We could do it."

"It was shit-house luck," Dalzen grumbled. "On both our sides. "It wouldn't happen again. Not for an entire lifetime of chances."

Coushander glared at him debasing what he'd done. "Well we'll be happy to leave you at the dock—!" he spat out.

"We're not leaving anybody _anywhere,"_ Saru looked at him severely. "We continue as one, or quit as one; what is the vote?"

Silence.

"No," Dalzen said again. "We got Shodai's man. That's all there is."

Coushander looked at him, and then into their fire, his mind trying to blanket out the last of his doubt as it would the flame. He remembered hearing that Konoha shinobi were never to start a fight, but always to finish it; and he wondered if this included Haruda. He was inclined to believe it did in all entirety. "Yes," he looked up and around them. "Because…we have to."

The looked for who would speak out next; it was Keiko.

"…Yes," she nodded quietly, almost guiltily. "Because…we should."

She looked to her right, at which point Takato nodded slowly—"Yeah…" he said, nodding. "For…For Naoko."

Coushander smiled broadly.

Dalzen frowned.

"And you know what I have to say on it," Saru said. "So we concede. And we will proceed _together_. Understood?"

Coushander nodded readily, and the others followed suit, all except for the tall Morino. His opinion of their captain changed in his mind he was no longer a 'cocky-headed fool', but a manipulative, cocky-headed bastard. Coushander, he thought was worse, and the other two held little spine. But what he considered to be the strangest thing of all of this…was that they had succeed. And what pained his mind more was the very fact that he could not explain it. He called it luck, he admitted his mind had been tough enough, but they won. Even Coushander and Takato. The concept was unusual, and he did also admit, it was in large part to a mysterious brown owl. And that was where his headache worsened. Owing a victory to a little brown bird with feathers was unfathomable.

And Saru never seemed to question it as he.

.


	16. Light of the Island

Quick note: Maybe an alternate title for this chapter would be, 'That Word In Story'. Still; every word is true.

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_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 16  
_**Light of the Island**_

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._**  
**_

Though Dalzen was excessively stubborn to admit, it was full two weeks before felt normal enough to continue their dark and slippery trek through the water country. He wasn't about to say much else, so Coushander tired filling the uneasy void and inwardly, he had to pray their teammate wasn't about to steal away in the middle of the night. Kousa tried being positive without being brash—Saru's ideas were still inimitable enigmas Coushander couldn't quite explain or yet theorize where exactly they came from. But Coushander found he could uphold them, on occasion. And such an occasion revealed itself to be another three months in, where infiltration of one of Haruda's bases was more than an interesting idea. It was serious, and it was directed at the first one they'd found, which was on the south part of the island. And was even more seriously disturbing about it was that it was only suggestion thus far Dalzen showed no opposition to. Of course, he did not wish to volunteer for it, either. But Kousa showed readiness. And to this, Saru showed unease and doubled back on the idea.

"No, No!" He asked Keiko and Takato; "What will my name be?"

"Annoying," Dalzen muttered.

"Are-Are you sure?" Saru looked at him quizzically.

"Of course! We've been going in circles—"

Dalzen cleared his throat rudely in agreement.

"—and this will give us the chance to know what the hell's going on. We'll know if Daiji was telling the truth or not. If so, all we're going to have to do is wait at the port, trip him when he gets on the ramp…it's perfect!"

"But you will have to be transformed—disguised at all times; you're not the best at that," Saru said carefully.

Coushander grinned. "Neither are you—you can't change you're stripes. They'd be on to _you_ in a heartbeat."

"Oh, thanks."

"Don't worry. I'll be careful. Now, what's my name…?"

.

_Day 489 in water country, decision made tonight. Unsure. Doyou. Work starts tomorrow._

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Takeshi was a simple boy, raised by the mountains where he worked in the coal mines until the mountain and the company yielded. He traveled down the valley, devoid of work, and he traveled into the towns and fields and found some land in a quiet, quaint place, and met a quaint, and quiet girl. And then, in a freak accident with a scythe, lost a finger, became a ferry boat captain, and signed up to subvert the national government because he was secretly an anarchist.

Coushander was positive his father wouldn't like this kind of perversion to the tale, but he needed it to sign up and fight for the dark side. He fooled Daiji easily, and was taken in stride.

Haruda was still out of the country, and Takeshi learned Zerejin was heavily intoxicated at Kushima.

So Saru and Takato went on ahead, and Keiko and Dalzen stayed behind to relay messages.

But for all the useful and un-useful information the anarchist Takeshi receiver, the more it troubled him; yet he could not act that way. He learned Zerejin was planning to lead a group of ninja to a southwestern island and control it—their first instinct was to stop the man, but Dalzen suggested waiting, in case Zerejin realized there was a spy somewhere; only Daiji knew the specifics, and as his discretion (of a few drinks at the tavern) told sober Takeshi. But Coushander argued Zerejin himself probably wasn't entirely sober enough to make such a correlation.

But he was.

They went ahead with the interception, and it was partially successful. Saru and Takato discouraged the ninja and boat, yet Zerejin was able to escape. It was pouring rain down there, the red frog relayed back; as Saru had put it, 'the kind of rain that pounded you frozen'.

And there was another kind of pounding that waited for good anarchist Takeshi.

Saru-Shin and Takato picked up Okami's trail on their own and chased the wolf back up north to Dalzen and Keiko's position. And after only three months of infiltration, Takeshi was about to be uncovered as a true federal capitalist. He got caught, and he remembered it very clearly, because Haruda was there. And, he looked amused a Konoha mouse was scurrying about the trap.

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_Night—548, Ka, have not heard from him yet._

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Kousa was walking back to base early that evening after a talk with Daiji, who gave him instruction to go through the names of recruits—he failed to ascertain why, and he failed to know the list had been hidden since the incident.

And as he calmly walked back to the house, he was stopped by a black-haired man with blue eyes; "Nohara, Takeshi?"

"Yes?" he stopped.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions…"

Four men to the left and right also came into sight as well.

The man in front of Kousa broke his own transformation jutsu and revealed a taller figure; orange hair, brown clothes. "…as to _who_, you might really be."

It was too late to stop Takeshi from gaping. He didn't know Haruda had taken that form often. Frantically, Coushander considered what he should do. He did not know how he could keep lying—certainly Saru or Dalzen would, but he feared his chances were slim; "S-Sir!" he uttered. "Haruda…I…finally meet you…" he said dishearteningly.

Haruda smiled. "Like-wise. Which rat are you?"

"Um…" Coushander thought admixed trepidation and his heart: it was racing an eagle for the sky. "…Rat? I'm…afraid of small rodents," he said. "I don't like where this conversation is going…"

At his side, Haruda snapped his fingers.

The eight men drew their swords.

_Oh God,_ Kousa thought. _Lie,_ and _fight nine people…?_ Reluctantly, he dropped his brown-haired façade, and there was plain, indigo-clad Coushander.

"You're not Monkey."

His heart was in his throat. "No…I'm not…" Coushander believed he'd just made possibly the worst mistake of his life. "…Would you rather I was him?" he continued conversationally. "I can transform into him, too…"

The orange-haired man smiled. "That will not be necessary," He turned around. "Bring him."

"No—"

But as he told Sakumo, he couldn't remember what happened after that. He just knew that he fell, with a crashing thud.

.

Saru-Shin had a bad feeling Coushander wasn't responding so promptly as Dalzen and Keiko knew he could. So, Saru asked Dalzen to go and scout for Takeshi. Dalzen had done this twice before, he was well aware of how close he could get to the house. But he found Coushander no-where outside the facility. He waited and observed for a while until he saw a short girl leave the building—it was Naoko. He slipped to intercept her path and she gasped in surprise; "Oh God!" she cried, "Wait 'round the back, please," she whispered, "Something's happened!"

She scurried back and he did as she told him—and there, through a window, he saw not Takeshi, but a bloodied mass who'd played him for three months. She opened the door and urged him to come in. "They just put me in charge of him," she whispered, "I think they know where you are," Dalzen had Coushander in his arms; "Go, quickly," she said.

"You too," Dalzen suggested.

She was visibly disturbed. "I'm so sorry!" she murmured.

He looked as if he were dying in his sleep; Dalzen said not a word more and with Kousa, he fled. He wasn't sure where the wound was—the blood had amassed all over his teammates clothes. His face was bare and the skin was more pale than his own. Dalzen ran fast to discourage the blood forming a trail—he knew it was pointless, but he did it anyway. It wasn't the end he thought the young man would have; he felt sad he had to suffer for it as he did.

He made it back to their camp with a skid that scarred his knee. "Keiko," he called; but the others were already on him. Dalzen rose and got out of their way—he found the canteen of water and put out their fire.

Keiko was shell-shocked. Her hands reached out across Kousa's form to find the source of the hemorrhaging. She found it on his side, by his kidney—there was another on his right shoulder; but she focused on the lower wound. The tears that came fell over on her hands as she shook her head and shuddered in fear. She could heal it—she gave it all she had; but she couldn't make herself speak as she cried—too much life had left him.

"Saru, we need to go now. We've been found out," Dalzen said.

Saru looked at Keiko and took her hand.

She stopped sobbing for a moment as she shook her head, shaking. Kano could not speak.

Saru seemed to consider something for a brief second. "Takato," he said, "Listen."

The boy knew what Saru meant—he nodded slowly.

And then Saru rolled up his sleeve and turned to Keiko. "Give me your pack."

She didn't hear him. Dalzen knelt and reached for it—Saru received it and scanned through the contents.

Dalzen looked at him expectantly; his eyes finally adjusting to the moonlight. "What in the world are you looking for?"

Saru searched and pulled out a catheter and two injection needles. "I need somebody to get his end."

"…What…?"

Keiko withdrew her hands and looked up—people were talking.

Takato, too, stared.

"L-Look…" Dalzen stuttered as Saru was affixing the needle on the end of the tube. "I…" But the admonishment he had fell short as he decided to take up the other end and work the needle to the tube as Saru had done. The girl to his right was still in shock. Saru told him where to put the needle—Saru punctured his arm simultaneously.

After he saw the blood come down securely, Dalzen stared at Saru. Keiko muffled an oncoming sob, and Takato felt four chakra presences. The clear tube turned all red.

Slowly, Dalzen relented his stare and turned his head to face Coushander. He tried checking the pulse in his neck, but he felt nothing. He suddenly felt justified for his protest, but it was too late now. He kept his finger there minute longer…and still, there was nothing. Dalzen retracted, keeping an eye on Saru and Takato—his lip was too dry shut to say anything.

Their captain looked on in earnest. "Listen to me, Coushander," Saru said sternly. "I know it hurts," His hand that kept the needle twitched. Slowly, his right hand took his brother's left and held it. "I know it hurts," he said again. "But you have to walk through it."

"Saru…" Dalzen started solemnly.

"You need to walk through the pain. Think of it…like the creek, in the ravine; remember?" he asked. Saru smiled. "It's like when we were little—we'd climb up the sides…and sometimes we'd fall. But hey, listen to me now. I'm holding your hand, you don't have to do it by yourself. But I need you…I need you to take my hand in return, or it won't work. I need you to do that for me, Kousa."

They all looked at him—dead to the world.

"He can't hear you," Dalzen said quietly. "It's over."

"Kousa, take my hand."

They stared between the two.

"Take my hand," Saru repeated. "It's the only way I can help you now, come on," Saru shifted. "Come on Kousa, please, I know you can do this. Take it."

_Impossible…_Dalzen thought. And the tall Morino was all the while staring down Coushander's arm.

Keiko's face, thought contorted in grief, stared at Saru's hand.

Takato, close to Saru, felt something change—a fifth chakra presence. He stared at Coushander's flushed hand.

And a finger twitched.

And they stared.

And all four fingers began moving.

And they twitched and shook and pushed and pulled their way around Saru's palm.

And he held.

And after the shock and confusion wore on Dalzen, he searched Coushander's neck and found a low pulse. He was shocked—and yet it was there, as if it'd always been there.

Saru released a slow smile. "I've got you…" he said quietly. "We go up…together. I've got you—good job, Kousaku…You will not fall."

The Morino watched him as he spoke—he watched his marked eyes, looking on Kousa. He looked back at Coushander again in total disbelief—he saw Keiko white with shock. He returned his eyes to Saru's and saw something in him he couldn't explain.

"Keep walking," said Saru, still clutching his brother and his arm. "Almost there."

The silence continued amid the group.

Dalzen saw him again and realized he was tiring. Instinctively, he checked the dead man's pulse and found it'd steadied.

Saru noticed him. "…You're there, Kousa," he said. "It's all right now…We're there; you're on the other side. And—And I am going to let go now, Kousa. But you just keep walking, ok? I need you to do that for me. You don't have to get up and do it—just keep breathing, that's ok. And don't look back; it'll be all right. Just keep going…I'll let go now…" Their captain pulled the needle from his arm and let go.

Using tape from the pack, Dalzen wrapped Coushander's arm once and passed it to Saru. He noticed Takato to his right, looking off into the distance through the trees. "They're coming," he said.

"Time to go," Saru admitted. "South—to Mine…we can cross the river there."

Dalzen nodded in agreement, as he carefully got a hold on his teammate.

They fled.

By the time they reached the great bay, their captain collapsed, and so Takato took him on, and the quintet crossed four miles or open, quiet water. The men exhausted, they took up refuge; Dalzen told Takato he'd take the first watch, and he turned to Keiko, "Watch over them."

She looked at the silent, fragile forms of the two. She looked back and leveled her eyes on the ground. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

Dalzen turned around. "…For what?"

"For…falling to pieces like I did."

She looked ashamed.

He didn't know what to do to make her feel any better. The whole situation they suddenly found themselves in was so incomprehensible…he smiled. "You're doing just fine."

Kano looked up and was surprised to see that odd expression on his face. Flushing, she smiled half-heartedly.

But when Dalzen woke Takato, without a doubt he sensed Haruda's group at the direct opposite end of the bay. "…Four of them…I sense another four with them, though—not as strong. They're crossing the bay—two separate boats."

"Dammit," the Morino said wearily. "So what? We hide in the city? North? South?"

"Well…" Takato thought across their adventures. "I've never been south…"

Dalzen smiled again. "Still…I think anywhere near the city might hold hazard, even though our trail would be easier to follow. We could move farther west—maybe aim for the coast."

"Ok," Keiko agreed numbly.

Takato nodded.

So Dalzen took Saru, and Takato handled Coushander and they traveled as far as they could stand it. They settled at a sandy base of a tall brown and black ridge. Keiko volunteered the first watch, and was comforted by the fact a calm blue dawn was coming up in the east…and in part by the perimeter barrier her and Takato set up in front of them. But she hadn't realized how much time had gone by.

The boys woke up mid-morning and their Coushander did not wake for two days hence. And when she wasn't watching for someone to come and kill them all, she was by his side, looking after him.

It became excruciatingly obvious, she knew, and felt embarrassed from her weakness, even if Dalzen was ready to accept her emotional fluxes. But the truth was, she was very fond of Kousa. She was sixteen now, in the midst of their mission, and she guessed her parents had already tried tearing down the door to get to Shodai to demand for the return of their only child. She thought of them often. The girl didn't consider herself homesick so much anymore. She was well engrossed in the sojourn, and attached to her teammates, one moreso. And her dalliance rested only with her smile. And it was obvious she did that frequently, especially when she saw Coushander waking up.

"…Cou…shander…!"

Dalzen was by her—he peered over and smiled---their friend was opening his eyes.

Fuzzily, Coushander looked up at Dalzen for a moment and the image cleared some distortions—it didn't not clear his mouth—the Morino was smiling at him. _Oh God no…_Kousa thought to himself. He tried fluxing his chakra to rid himself of the illusion.

"What's going on…?" Takato turned around.

"Sir—Saru! He's waking up!"

Dalzen's smile did not shrink—it grew wider, and Coushander wanted to scream—he feared, immensely. He could not move—he felt as if each limb—in addition to his head had fifteen Hairo's sitting on them. He prayed they'd flop off, but his dizziness informed him they were more floating o'er top of him rather than sitting…But the stranger of the two was definitely the Morino. From far away, he heard Keiko call his name. It sounded like she was way up there in the sky. He looked to his left with his eyes and saw her, her eyes were wet and glazed. Dalzen moved, and then he saw Takato and Saru on his left—"Hey there, Kousa," he said, smiling.

Coushander tried forming the words, but the disorientation held him from it.

"You're safe," Saru said. "It's all right."

"…I…" he mouthed, desperately trying to break the whisper barrier. "I…'m sorry…'Aru…" he tried. "Sorry…I..." he took in a breath. "I…screwed up…"

"You didn't screw up, Kousa," Saru's eyes smiled. "...Glad to have you back."

With that, he stood and returned to take his post.

Keiko looked over him. "You…got really lucky!" she tried to keep herself from crying as Coushander looked at her. He watched her lip curl and her eyes blink.

"Why…" he breathed again.

"…Yes?"

"Why…the…" he couldn't curse. "Is…that…" he tried, "man…" he took a breath, "smiling…?"

She was confused as to who he meant but when she looked at Dalzen, she realized it was him. "…Dalzen…?" she smiled.

"Aaa…" he confirmed.

Dalzen looked at him. "We thought…" At which point he gave up the explanation, figuring he'd hear it later. "You're back," he said simply. "That's…all that matters."

Coushander eyed him with fear—the smile was still there. He saw the tall Morino and the floating dogs in the open blue sky and wondered which was paining him more. "You're…a…_miser_…" Coushander whispered. He swallowed. "Who…are…you…? And what…have…you…_done_…" he voice was giving out. "…with…our…_Dalzen_…?" Which only made the Morino smile again, and Coushander closed his eyes and let out a moan of pain.

"It's ok," Kano remedied. "You're safe—we're all here. It's all right—you'll be ok."

He opened his eyes one last time to watch the fifteen (or so) Hairo's trot over him and run. It was coincidental, because he felt like after crawling and walking up a steep hill for what felt like twenty miles, he wanted nothing more than to run.

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Keiko and Takato stayed with him, and Dalzen went and sat with Saru.

The noon was calm and blue. Saru could tell also it was serious, and so he waited patiently for the tall man to speak.

"Looks like he'll be all right," he said.

Saru nodded. "Hopefully."

"…I'm surprised at you," Dalzen admitted.

Saru fought a smile. "Oh?"

The Morino did not speak immediately. He took his times until the wrestling was through. "Can I tell you something?"

Saru smiled naturally. "I am all ears."

It only made it more difficult. But Dalzen felt he needed to say it. "When I was young…I used to live in what's now wind country. My parents were activists for the rights of county fourteen, and the local lord imprisoned them for it. He hired a group of wind ninja and declared martial law on the entire county."

"I remember hearing about that."

"It wasn't anything I'd like to remember living through. The night before they were arrested, they sent me east, with my uncle. That county was closed off in nothing flat.

"We found out…a few years later, my mother died in that prison, and my father had hung himself soon after," Dalzen paused. "That county remained closed and under martial law until I was sixteen—that's when I remember seeing the Shodai's team, Uchiha and Senju were able to retake it easily, but by that time, the sentiment…the revolutionists of the town had either been long imprisoned, or their minds were changed—or their allegiances were bought. And, due to the public opinion, of course, Shodai chose to withdraw—the county was formally adopted by the land of wind, and they pulled out to avoid starting a war…and let the county go, just like that. But, my uncle hadn't been about to take 'no' for an answer.

"He'd been in contact for sometime with a man from the village there. That man…had been a friend of my parents, and he only pretended to assist my uncle in return for payment by the lord himself. And so the last…'revolutionist' was shut away for good. It meant the last of the resistance, and I saw no choice but to join with Konohamaru…it's been a small hope of mine that someday…that place will again be a part of the land of fire. I…had also felt betrayed by the man. I was…disheartened to put it mildly. So…pair that with other…events in my life…I have never trusted anyone. I never believed…in…the kindness of man," he shook his head. "Everyone is usually after something. Everything, I learned, was entirely subjective."

Saru heard this and thought. "I'm sorry," he said. "…Have I changed your mind, yet?"

Dalzen smiled strangely. "I…didn't think…" he struggled with the words. "I did not think you'd go that far—it hadn't crossed my mind. And yet, you saved that man's life. Everything that has influenced me—all the men that I knew would have certainly left him there for dead. I think…I would have. But, you didn't."

"Well…what you've often called 'shithouse luck' applied there too. I didn't know if it'd work…but, by God, I wasn't going to let him die on me. I'd have tried anything if that'd hadn't have worked—in that case, we'd probably all be sitting with Haruda right now."

Dalzen looked at him. "…I believe you…when you say that, now. I believed…in the determination on your face—you'd have done it for any one of us."

Saru stared into the blue. "A captain never, ever, deserts his soldiers; a captain will never leave the battlefield before they. It's the rule of comitatus."

Dalzen was silent.

So was Saru.

"…Can I tell _you_ something…?"

Dalzen looked at him. "By all means."

Saru sighed and leaned back—finally convincing himself to lay on the short grass. "You ever hear of Sun WuKong?"

Dalzen thought—he shook his head. "No."

"Well…my dad…knew every legend, and every one he didn't know, he learned. And when I was six or seven, they started calling me 'little monkey', because I was so obnoxious and unruly…and I'd grown into a cocky-headed fool," Saru smiled. "I was like the Monkey King," he shook his head. "And because I was so stubborn, I made my father angry to no ends. So, I made my own journey to the east and signed up under Shodai—I was fifteen, and they showed me a thing or two."

Dalzen looked at him. "You trained under Karada."

"I did. And he was the one…mainly, that did all the teaching. I'll never forget a captain like that. And it wasn't easy to come back home, but I earned my father's respect. But between Karada; my father…I had a real desire to keep doing it—to serve, to protect. I'd heard my father toss around 'comitatus' in his stories, but under Karada, I knew it was real. It was absolutely real; and damn any sir who does not uphold it. That's who I am. Or who I strive to be…" Saru smiled. "I still think Senju Karada may have set the bar."

Saru's tone reminded Dalzen of Jeremiah's words: never forget who you are. At first, he hadn't understood the concept. He thought the older man had been speaking in vague---but his captain put definition to it and there was no doubt in his mind as to why Saru-Shin, of all persons, led their group.

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_551—Kin, night, calm and cold. Kousa up twice so far today, once earlier, secnd. Time askd for 'all the pain med. you've got'. Keiko has antibi., down to last dose of painkillr. Seems like it's not strong enough anywy. Secnd time he woke up, we tested him, and he said he could feel his left leg; we're still hopeful about that. Takeshi doesn't need any more pain and grief in his life. Cou's been lucky. I'm thankful. Debatd whether or not to go back to Bear's. Concluded we can't since it's too long a trip to take—decided to risk it; Dalzn & Kei are going up to Mine to find what we need._ Saru paused and smiled. _It'd be nice if they ran into Sage. I wonder what he and Jin are up to. Oh…per. note: finally got somewhre with Dalzen. It only took me 1½ years of trying—the man does smile, and he does it well. I don't know that Keiko would transfer her affection._ Saru grinned. _I should not write that, but there it is—please let me be scolded for it later, I do not mind._ He paused. _We've come too far to look back now. We're friends and comrades and we care for each other. And I think Dalzen understands that now, too._

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The two came back a day later—Coushander was not in god condition, but after continual doses, he regained in touch with his restless, stubborn self.

"My…sword…" Coushander murmured that evening.

"…What?" said Saru.

"Oh…" Kousa cursed and his eyelids shot open: "…My…katana…!"

"…Oh," Saru realized. "I'm sorry, Kousa—"

"No…!" he begged, staring up at the dark sky. "No! Where…Where is…my…katana…! Where…?! No…!" Carefully he moved his head and saw his brother on his left, and Dalzen to his right. "No..!" he cried again. "I lost it! No…! Dammit! Damn…Damn, damn, damn…damn—!"

"Easy there, tiger," Saru held his arm.

"No…!"

"Whoa, easy now, it's ok."

"No…! Oh fuck…my kunai, too…! They took that…too…didn't they…?"

"Probably," Dalzen said.

"No…!" Coushander weakly wailed. "…Shit…!"

"Hey, just relax!" Saru commanded. "Don't exert yourself; we'll get them back—"

"To hell I will…! I feel…lost! without those things…! _Dammit…!"_ He shut his eyes tightly. "I am so _stupid…!"_

"You're _not_ stupid…" Saru smiled. "…Every young war horse has their setbacks."

"Aaahh!" Coushander said in pain, but he broke into a short, woeful laugh, smiling against his will; "…Lunatic!"

"…What?" Saru asked him innocently.

"I'll…get…you…for that…!" Coushander threatened, his voice lowering.

Saru smiled. "Then get me when you're better, colt. You need to be able to chase a moving target."

Kousa gave a small moan under a grin in response, and slept.

He learned how to walking again in a week's time, and it did not come easy. His endurance was by far not a fraction of what it once was; making his steps short and his patience incredibly think. But as Saru continually reminded him, Coushander had to accept the humility of being able to stand at all.

But he was surprised by Dalzen. (Wary, but surprised.)

He was surprised Dalzen would help him. He was surprised Dalzen talked to him as he did. And he was mostly surprised by the abrupt change in face—their tall Morino smiled. He wasn't up to Saru's level of lunacy yet, but it was a tad start. Kousa was told the tale of how he was found, and he was told what lengths had been taken to save his life. Coushander was very quiet and surprised, looking at his brother, then at the fire. He didn't know what to say to him—the true gravity of the concept had really saved his life. He realized, too, in time, the event had greatly civilized Dalzen to the rest of the team and himself—and hugely to their wild-haired leader, who'd made a great sacrifice. And Coushander still wasn't sure how he could ever hope to repay his brother—he wasn't sure something like that he could repay, but he would strive to try after a 'thank you' he uttered to him with all his being.

Coushander, he soon joked, could not use transformation juutsu ever again; the five had to decide on a new plan of action.

Keiko and Dalzen had seen Daiji in Mine, and kept themselves hidden. The man had been heading into a tavern on the far end of town in the dusk of the evening. But the final six months were short and close and clear, on many shades.

Coushander got only his katana back three months later with Naoko's help—she nearly screamed when she saw him, shocked the man was still alive. Coushander was thankful beyond compare, and felt as if, in companion to his black sword, he were on top of the world (again). Which, Saru easily reminded him, the top of the world was actually located somewhere in Iwa, or so he was told in the Yama Grand mountain range. But back in water country, Zerejin's newly formed team of Kiri ninja had been giving them trouble. Finally, separated from the group, Saru found the two—Haruda and Zerejin just south of Satsumasendai. He sent a frog back to the group to go ahead and proceed in taking out the second base they'd found, and only Dalzen was to come back to support Saru.

Coushander did not like this idea—and even Dalzen found something manic with it. But Coushander had felt he'd been babied for over the past five months by each of them, moreso his brother. Therefore, he conspired with the four, and asked that he go instead.

They agreed.

Coushander marched north alone, and came up Saru's position at high noon. He was his brother waiting in the shade of a tall pine, gazing up at the sky as if he were looking at the contents of a song.

Coushander smiled. In his mind, his brother always had that certain expression on his face. And he decided to startle him by saying…: "Oi! Joshua! I'm here!" he said with an accent much like Jin's.

Sure enough he did and Saru started; "Kousa!"

"Hello, ready?"

"…Where's…Dalzen…?"

Coushander grinned. "He finally decided to hitch-hike it outta here."

"…_Kousa_…" Saru looked at him seriously.

"Saru…we all agreed it was better this way. Keiko and Takato need a fighting chance back there—Dalzen works best with them, he can do it better than me. You know I'm better off here, with you. It'll work better this way."

Saru was not convinced and he frowned.

"What?! We decided! It was a team decision, it's done, let's go!" he smiled. "I'm ready, honestly. Make way for the expedition…!"

His brother pursed his lip—still distracted by the new concept.

"I can do this, Saru, I promise you I can, just please give a chance. You've all been holding me back, since...my…" he could not think of the words. "You know."

"I do," Saru said empathetically. "But…"

"We all agreed."

"I didn't agree."

"Saru…I promise I can do this; please."

Saru thought hardly, and finally, he nodded slowly. "Ok…" he said, showing a smile. "You're ready?"

Coushander touched his hilt with his left hand. "Yes!"

His brother answered quickly, Saru-Shin saw his enthusiasm, but his confidence wasn't a hundred percent yet. But, he decided to press on with the change anyway. There was a vague premonition rolling itself out in his mind he could not quite put definition to; it only warned him he'd have to keep a close watch on his brother, and make sure they were not separated. It wasn't a bad feeling, but a wary one giving him caution.

But his younger brother followed him closely and surely. Coushander was confident he was ready for a fight, perhaps a final fight if they indeed found the two together. Kousa resolved himself to be strong and ready to test his mettle—he regarded it with respect now, and he vowed he would never let the blade go again without a proper fight. He was trained by Saru, Harou, and others—he could not let them down. And through the silence, Coushander could only think of one sure thing to ease the air and cheer someone like Saru…: he started singing.

But Coushander still, through his dreams, could not remember which tune it had been.

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	17. The Ones I Leave Behind Me

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 17  
_**The Ones I Leave Behind Me**_

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"He's fifteen…No, he's almost sixteen, now…I can't believe I'm telling him all this," the Hatake said the next morning on the back porch.

"But think of all the things you don't have to say…like…the horrible weather…or…all…the dark places…" she smiled.

"Pray God he may never see Kiri."

She rolled her eyes. "I_ thought_ we got _over_ this."

"Not the rain…now that you've mentioned it. Or the crazy people," he cleared his throat uneasily. "We could have done without those psychos."

Kano looked at him. "I think by crazy people, I'd include us…"

"No," he said weakly. "They were the madmen. We were only lunatics…There was a difference."

"Right…I'm sorry—I forgot."

"Sometimes…Well; I tried to forget. Look where it got me. I'm sorry I did."

She watched his expression soften the creases across his faces. "So," she wondered, "What do you tell him tonight so Dalzen can start cringing."

Coushander tried to laugh, but he couldn't. "I've been fair to Dalzen…At least…" for a moment, he reconsidered seriously—"No," he decided against it. "No, I've been fair to him. I told the truth. Everybody respects the truth…" Again, he stopped. "Well, ok, not everybody," He stared out across the decayed, rusted, and rotted field of winter wheat. The stalks looked sick. He didn't take any comfort in the metaphor. "If he wants to tell him…a slightly different tale…he's more than welcome to do so," He fought an urge to touch his chest for the woman's sake.

She laughed. "Only his tale would be so drab…and maybe boring…and laden with emotional detachment for the first year and a half," She saw him smile tightly. "But your tale, I'm sure, is just as boring," she teased.

"Of course," he said. "So yours can be the one that's exciting…use puppets…or something."

Kano grinned, "So he's fifteen still—though that would definitely amuse Jiraiya."

"Jiraiya…is too young."

Jiraiya was also a touchy subject. Because Jiraiya would always remember his father from a five year old's perspective, and his half-brother Sakumo's memories. The man would always be tall and ageless and kind, and his disappearance always in an abrupt air of mystery, even when he would come to understand how his father had actually parted with his world.

And when Jiraiya was born, it was Coushander's determination not to become close to him. That decision continued in the man's heart even after he and Kano had reconciled. And he thought the detachment would be so easy since at the time of his birth, he felt a genuine indifference to the baby child. He neither liked it nor disliked it. He had the experience that young children were miserable…which he felt only Sakumo disproved in some respects. But Jiraiya had one singular, inimitable trait Sakumo hadn't had, and that trait would always remind Coushander of why he could not embrace the boy, and that was his stripes.

The Hatake gene mysteriously passed those stripes from Saru to him, and even though the boy's brows and eye shape were Kano's in whole, the marks were a constant and eerie reminder of the past that showed itself now like a ghost, or that of a reincarnation. And Coushander once said in earnest and light to Kosaka; "He's my brother's reincarnation. He'll kick me. He'll murder me. They always do."

But as the baby grew, it made no move for the various vital points and such, and was a relatively normal child showing no deeper motives in it's existence. But the sourness that Kousa homed started stealing away when the baby boy began to talk. It was a small start for the two of them—Coushander was in her kitchen watching him in the high chair, trying to empty a salt shaker that was taped from the inside (which was Kousa's idea)—and giving up, Jiraiya started babbling to signify what he wanted to do next. And clearly, that day, the baby called out, "Oh-dou!"

And Coushander looked at him and stared.

The baby carried on and flailed, grabbing the shaker and rolling it across the tray. It fell off and caught Keiko's attention. She saw Coushander still as wood and said his name.

After a pause, he picked up the shaker and set it on the counter behind him (to which Jiraiya was further distressed), and the father left the room.

The baby's sudden cries forced Kano to soothe him with the return of the shaking machine and a gentle kiss on his forehead.

She then followed after Coushander into the living room where he was leaning against the wall, his head hung low as if he'd been publicly shamed. "…Kousa…?" she said again.

He stared at the floor. "I can't do this," he said. "I can't do this all over again—I can't," he swallowed. "He called…" He could hear the child's amusement rolling around in the background, but he could still hear what the child had called him. In the back of his mind, the part where he stored water country all those years, there was a hidden truth that the term 'father' applied to him again, to that boy, but he did not want to accept it. He didn't know how to accept it again, especially not to that child, and not to those stripes.

But the boy continued calling him father, and Kano encouraged the father to call him 'son'. Though…'little Monkey' was a term they both used instinctively.

"…Don't let Jiraiya see me," he continued slowly to her on the back porch. He stared intently on his field. "Or Sakumo…when it gets bad. I don't want him to remember me like that."

"…Sakumo has seen you a great deal. I think he's coming around to you."

"Him especially," he gave in and put a hand around his neck. He cocked his head and tried not to move.

"Are you…" Keiko looked him over instantly. "…ok?"

"No," he answered simply.

"Kousa, why don't we go—"

"No," he said hoarsely. "I won't die there."

"Coushander, I'm not asking you to…" But she gave up the thought.

"I'll make it," he said to her without turning his head.

Kano's eyes stung at the comment.

He didn't say anything else.

.

"Sakumo; if you're so _distracted_…"

The fifteen year old woke up. "No—No…I'm…only thinking."

Dalzen smiled. "Distraction usually involves that sort of thing."

"Well…why in the world…couldn't anyone tell me?" Sakumo asked him finally. "…Why couldn't _you_ tell me?"

Dalzen looked at him. "It wasn't my place to."

"Sure it was!" Sakumo exclaimed. His sensei's expression did not change, so Sakumo quickly backed down and assumed some guilt. "But…" he said with reservation, "I just wonder who else knew. I guess…my mother knew…" He looked up at his captain, again and suddenly Dalzen wore the guilty expression across his face as he faked looking at the papers on the desk.

"…What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?" he returned.

"…What?!" Sakumo asked again.

"Nothing." Dalzen said.

"…What!" Sakumo pursued.

Dalzen considered. "Well…your mother…I saw her once."

"What?!" Sakumo jumped in his chair. "You knew her?!"

"_No,_ I only said I _saw_ her."

"…Well…when was that?!" Sakumo exclaimed. His mind raced to preclude it was long before his existence. "What else haven't you told me?!"

Dalzen waved his hand. "Some other time."

"Oh…" Sakumo exhaled loudly. "Come on…My life has become one huge lie."

_"Sakumo,"_ Dalzen scolded. "It has not been a 'lie'."

"How would _you_ know? You've all been_ lying_ to _me!_ I can't take it! I don't know what's what anymore, all of a sudden. My father…a shinobi…once…? Captured, almost killed? And—And you and the lady and the other man…" Sakumo didn't realize how emotional he'd gotten. He tried letting his nerves settle, so he vented them, "I just…I don't know…where in the world…I stand, anymore, that's all."

"…Well," Dalzen looked at him. "I'm sorry you feel…lost. It's a lot to take in, I give you that."

"A lot…? Yeah…" Sakumo sighed; he didn't want to argue further. "I just never knew someone who hated ninja so much…could have ever been one."

Dalzen smiled. "You'd be surprised at how people can change, Sakumo. It's an important lesson to learn. The process isn't easy, but it's possible."

"I guess so…" Sakumo admitted quietly.

"Go on—get out of here," Dalzen said to him. "Clear your mind. I can finish this."

He felt guilty again, and clouded, as his captain knew he was. And Sakumo knew he could never argue otherwise when Dalzen was right—his intuitiveness still surprised Sakumo, and he submitted.

He left the building, walked outside, and tugged at his vest— there was a cool breeze, and the sun was clouded. A thick cover a grey clouds blanketed the village from usual warmth. Idly, he kicked at a stone and there he decided to go back and sit on one of the benches outside the office. Sakumo stared long enough at the concrete to see a date in one of the corners of a long section to his left; it told it was about five years old. He knew that was around the same time their team had left the village…and his father and baby brother behind. Now that child was five, and attending the Academy. And now, that father was sick and dying. The clouds pressed down on his brain. Sakumo didn't want to think anymore.

"…Sakumo," someone said. "Oi—Sakumotsu."

He looked up and saw a person standing on his right—a person whom he immediately recognized; "Seichi!"

The tall boy smiled. "Oi Sakumo."

Sakumo stood and looked him over—it was all Seichi, all but a narrow scar under his right eye. "How are you? What are you doing back here? When did you get back?"

"A few hours ago—nice to see you too."

Sakumo smiled. "I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah; 'been a while…I guess for both of us, eh?"

"…Yeah," Sakumo agreed. "Too long," He looked at Seichi, "It's funny how things change, don't they?"

"Indeed they do. Now, I must go find someone I can complain to."

"Captain Dalzen is up there—Why…?"

"Because…things aren't changing the way I want them to," Seichi winked mischievously.

Sakumo grinned. "…You do that; good luck!"

.

When he walked around the house that evening, he saw a woman in his place—it was Keiko, Jiraiya's mother. She saw him, and whispered something to his father. She rose up and came down the steps and smiled encouragingly at the boy. Sakumo saw her go and returned his sights on his father.

Sakumo walked up the porch steps and saw his father still had not moved his head—it was bent over tiredly like a willow bough. He took up the woman's place and waited for his father. Sakumo saw he had a different robe on—it was blue and patched in places, like everything else owned—it was a bit thicker than the others.

"…Hello Sakumo," he finally said. His son detected an immense weakness in the voice. Sakumo was too late to respond as he continued, "I don't suppose you remember…where we left off…?" he asked.

"You—You were captured," Sakumo said. "And…" he meant to add 'saved' when his father rejoined, "Oh yes, yes," he said. "Yes, and we sojourned on, to find our men…" he remembered. "And when we found them…what happened…" he furrowed his brow tightly. "Is the source of all this…Everything…" he said solemnly. "It's been my shame—mostly my guilt…and my tragedy. And I tried to suppress it…" He moved his head slowly and rested his left hand under it. "But…" a short smile loosened his mouth, "Everything comes back around in the end."

Sakumo saw his father's ugly scars again and didn't think anything of it until he wondered about the rest of the story. "…That scar…" he blurted suddenly, wondering.

Coushander released his left hand and looked at it. "It came from that last battle."

"You…" Sakumo gasped, looking at it again—he looked at his father; making sense. "You…got it…from there?!"

His father nodded, and laid the hand on his lap.

"But—But you always told me it was from your scythe…" the words fell enormously quick and flat in a quiet hush. The grey sky was darker now than the noon hour; it'd begun to turn the wheat grey and lavender. A sudden wave of understanding came over the boy. The lie ceased, it made sense now what his father had hid from him.

"I'm sorry, Sakumo," he said. "But it was from water country. It was our last fight. And…" he stopped, wondering how he could put it into words. He'd been ready to out with it to his son, but now, for a dark and cold moment, once again, his story seemed ineffable. He'd vowed himself he'd get through it; he'd force himself if he had to…so Coushander did. "And we were separated,: he thought slowly. "My brother was on his own and discovered where our two men were…So…he sent for Dalzen…but…" A smile, again, lightened his face. "But I…went instead.

"You see, we were going to take out one of the Wolf's cells—one of their bases, and if I'd been there…" he shook his head. "We agreed—the four of us agreed that it would not work. Dalzen would balance out the team better than myself…but Saru wasn't exactly happy with the change…but…as Dalzen told me later…he went. And he would not have if he didn't want to," Coushander looked down. "Sometimes, it's still hard to accept. I felt so guilty about it, for so long….and I hadn't even known what I was feeling. No, I did…but there, I am getting ahead of myself.

"I'd faced…things…and a part of me…wanted to prove myself…a part of me…was still cocky," he looked at his son briefly. "And I was confident, resolved…and I was wrong. Saru ended up taking on our big bad wolf—incredibly sober, he was," Kousa mused. "And after the other man finally grasped he'd failed to kill me…I was in a fight so…" he shook his head. "He wanted to see me dead—I could see it so clearly in his eyes. And when he bettered me with the sword…I lost my confidence, and it was all I could do just to survive."

His father stopped, and Sakumo saw him lower his head. The teen knew there was nothing he could say, so he kept quiet and felt sympathetic for him. It was all he felt he could do. Sakumo foresaw no happy ending for his father, and that was what drowned him in empathy and prepared him for his father's quiet denouement.

But Coushander suddenly smiled. "I'll never…I never forgot…his sword skills…were truly insane. I had…I could not get on the offensive. I…fractured my leg and I thought I was going to die there, but my brother…my brother came back and saved me."

He broke off again and looked up toward a lifeless sky. "Saru was like that. But…" He paused, and with his right hand touched his face and then his chest. He shook his head. "But, Saru…"

Sakumo at first did not recognize the tone in his father's voice, as he hadn't heard it in many years—not since his mother had died. It was real and sad and Sakumo felt so sorry, wishing he could pour some strength into the man.

"He was…He was weakened," Coushander regained and swallowed painfully. "He was weakened and bleeding himself, and…and I think I tried…I stood up…but I couldn't move—and Saru…" He stopped and he took a weary breath to say, simply, "I watched him die."

It was few minutes before he spoke again.

"I…didn't know what to do," he said, his voice quieting further. He couldn't move his head. "I was scared," he admitted. "I was scared to the core…and shell-shocked. I couldn't...I couldn't function. And he came to me next, and I…I had a kunai that had fallen where I had…and he came at me…" he raised his left hand a little, "I took his sword with that hand, and stabbed him with my right…"

Sakumo twitched as if he'd been touched by something cold—and the teen winced.

"…And I don't remember…I…don't…" he said. "All I remember…is…seeing my brother…" his voice broke for a moment. "…and his eyes…were still open."

The boy that sat beside him looked entirely as if he were sharing a horrid bit of that pain. Coushander lowered his head and just focused himself on breathing. "I was hurt," he said after a while. "But some how…I lived…And I remember…" There was a hazy, bright image of water country, high in his mind over the bearded wheat. "I remember, really, being back in the village…where…I…I turned against everybody, because…of that guilt…that shock, and fear…I felt. At first…maybe…it was confusion. Laying down in…water country…waking up…in a hospital…I don't know. I think Shodai was eager to meet us all…and he…he gave a special ceremony where he gave us all medals...To remember…And he gave me…Saru's," Coushander said. "And that set me off…I left…and vented my anger at him."

Sakumo stared. "You…You talked to Shodai…?"

Coushander looked at him from the corner of his eyes. "Talked…? More like yelled, shouted…and verbally abused…" he smiled wryly.

Sakumo grinned with him in surprise. "Really…?!"

"It's not anything…to be proud of…but…that's how I felt, at the time…and he…wasn't surprised by it…But I think I knew then—at that moment…I needed to leave."

The teen's smile faded.

"I had to…go through hell, again, before I could be discharged…but I was so stubborn. And all that…that shock vented itself…into what I grew to be. I hated shinobi," he said. "I hated it…I hated it so much."

Sakumo understood, and felt little pain at his words. His father's animosity and abhorrence was with reason. His father had suffered in response to that world.

"It was two years…" Coushander continued after a while. "Two years in that place…I strived…with all my being to forget. And I went home…" he said after a dry and painful cough. "And I…wandered a bit…here and there…'then found this place….and I suppose you must know the rest," he smiled faintly. "I married your mother…after some…persuasion…"

Sakumo remembered the letters the two exchanged for so long.

"And years later…you were…dropped, by a great, feathered-bird…"

"…_Dad_…" Sakumo smiled.

"No…you were indeed a miracle," Coushander smiled. "Indeed…" He was thinking of the boy's birth; three months too early. He had not looked forward to it in general; he never wanted children in the first place, yet he took to the infant the moment he saw him—the boy was barely a foot long, but the sweetest thing he ever saw in his entire life. Sakumotsu, he'd called him—my 'dear Sakumotsu'. And that made him think to Matty, his wife of fifteen years. She was taken from him too, by cancer, and had an incredibly painful time in dealing with it—Sakumo was only five years old.

"But…" his boy said beside him, "Why…couldn't you tell me?" he asked. "Why couldn't you…or anybody else tell me this before?"

"Sakumo, you must understand…I could not even let myself think about it…let alone speak it…" he said quietly. "I pushed it so far back…in my mind…that…" again, he found the words elusive. "I got on…only with what I had left…"

"…And mom…knew…"

"Yes…she did…she read the diary Saru kept…she read it…behind my back. That's how she knew," he coughed.

"What about…your friend Kosaka…?"

"He knows."

Sakumo smiled sadly. "Does Jiraiya know…?"

"Jiraiya…has seen the picture of us, when we were on the dock, yes…" He felt the pain in his chest rise and crest, like that of an impenetrable wave near his heart. "Sakumo—" he strained to speak, "I cannot answer any more questions," he forced. "I'm sorry."

The boy saw his father's profile and saw him completely still, clearly fighting back some tacit force of pain inside of him. It hurt Sakumo to see it; he continued to sit there with him, whishing there was something he could do—wishing he had the voice to say anything at all. He was so weary of thinking, and all he could feel was the deep sense of empathy and compassion he acquired then and there from looking at his father's face—his fathers hand, keeping a scar from a battle, long ago.

He looked back out over the field, growing under distress. It was moving as little as his father was—making little movements every now and then in sync with breath from cancered lungs. He looked back to his father and saw the imagery. And he saw on the bench beside the swing, the old grey radio and the red notebook he'd used for so many years to record the prices. '…red wheat up, half a penny…' Sakumo remembered the man would say. His father was always the most interested in the yellow. New crop, old crop, it was always informed every morning and every day with the various boards of trade. There was a schedule to it, and a small part of him began to miss it—he may never witness it again.

"Sakumo…" his father suddenly said.

Sakumo listened.

"Never be bitter," he said. "I was that way, for far too long, for all the wrong reasons," he swallowed. "Let yourself cry…and grieve, when you must…Just never, ever, be bitter. Especially if you have around you…people that care for you. Never forget them. Never turn your back on them. They will turn with you…if only you give them that chance…and give them that chance…Let the memories…be your strength," he said. "Not your weakness," Coushander thought. "And, Sakumo…Kano can be there for you…if you let her. She can be a friend; don't be afraid…to ask for help…And Sakumo…do not come to see me any more," he said firmly. "I cannot tell you anything more. Go, now."

Sakumo sat there for a moment, taking it in. Reluctantly, the boy did as he was told—he took in the sight, he did not ever imagine it would end like this. He stopped at the last step, wanting to stay, but the pain across his father's facing looking at him was so limpid with a clear-cut separation from him and the world and his son. He was in pain, and needed to be left alone. So Sakumo lowered his head and walked back in the dark very slow, and wondered, for himself, if Dalzen might still be working late in the office. He doubted it, but he wanted to hope, nonetheless.

Keiko came back around to the house where Coushander faked strength for her; he moved his head as he heard her coming. She walked up the porch and looked him over with concern. "How are you feeling?"

"…I need the oxycontin."

"When's the last time you took it?"

"…Twelve hours ago," he lied.

"…All right…"

She walked behind him and tried using her chakra. "…Does that still help?" she asked.

He considered whether or not to lie to her again. He decided, in honor of the day, to tell the truth, "…No," he said genuinely. "The drugs…work much better."

She frowned as she stopped the process. "Don't want you to become an addict..."

"…There won't be time for me now…to develop an addiction."

His words hurt, but she knew it was true. So she went inside the house and fetched the medicine and some water.

"…Thank you," he whispered.

She came back out to sit with him and watched him take it. "You know—you're going to have to go back in at some point—"

"Do you remember…" he thought, setting down the glass. "When I…first kissed you?"

"What…" That remembrance didn't come up much in conversation. "What…does that have to do with anything…?" she looked at him strangely with an odd smile.

"You…were talking about…how long it had been. And you…I knew at that second, you were going to say my brother's name…And that's why I kissed you."

She stared at him.

With his hazy eyes, he glanced at her.

Kano suddenly wore a wry smile across her face. "Oh…now that's _suave_."

A smile, too, curved his mouth. "But…you were right," he admitted quietly. "I was lonely."

"Well…" she thought. "Glad to know my intuition's still good for something," She smiled and took his right hand. "Do you want to go in yet?" she asked him gently.

His eyes were on the field. He watched it wave and breathe with him.

He shook his head.

.


	18. The Parting Glass

(Quick note: There's quite a bit of language…by my standards, towards the end of this one—I apologize profusely on Kousa's behalf…This is probably the rawest thing I've ever attempted to do, and other than that, I'm not sure what else to say. It explains itself. Oh—and by the way…this does have one of my most favorite Coushander retorts…maybe ever. It's too bad that guy quit when he did…he really could have been an old war horse…)

.

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

_._

_._

Chapter 18  
_**The Parting Glass**_

.

.

They sang only one song as they walked on until the hill steepened.

They were a distance under Satsumasendai, still west of Yamaguchi, and the road inclined vertically to a sharp point to higher ground. The gravity deepened and the plateau cut off on the right hand side, and there was a wide and grassless valley below, a stony river running through it. Coushander saw the water was perfectly clear—he could see a few copper-orange fish flying beneath. It reminded him of how he felt when he was looking in on the mist and amber lights of Kiri with Keiko.

Ahead of him, Saru stopped.

Kousa knew it was time to listen and look.

They waited, Coushander was about to inquire until he saw a silver-color wolf lean it's head out of the corner of a tree in the forest on the left. The animal walked on in the centre of their path. Zerejin appeared behind it, a long tantou blade in hand; a blue hilt to grey clothes.

"It's not everyday I see a dead man walking," a low voice behind them admitted. Coushander's head turned back and saw it was Haruda, a long taichi blade at his side.

"…I think you still have something that belongs to me," Kousa told him, thinking of his issued kunai.

"And what would that be…? Your pride? Confidence?" Haruda smiled and looked past him. "Monkey…you've caused me trouble," he admitted. "I still don't know how you took down Kizuato, but you did. You will not be lucky here." Haruda looked on at his comrade and nodded: "Okami, go."

Zerejin let out a low whistle, and the wolf charged at Saru.

Haruda drew the long blade and went for the man's brother.

Kousa blocked and he saw out of the corner of his eye, Saru had made use of a substitution jutsu. And because he knew Haruda was intent on getting him killed again, he could not afford to watch his brother again. He could guess, though, they were being systematically separated.

Coushander steadied his hands and applied chakra to the blade. He used substitution jutsu numerous times, but Haruda was on to him and immediately countered. The hits that Coushander got in steadily declined, and he found himself constantly on the defensive, and perpetually on the move. He hadn't felt that way in a sword fight since he first trained formally with Harou, Saru's friend. Haruda was a taller man than he, though; and with the taichi, the shinobi felt smaller still, even with the wind chakra extending is reach. A taichi was a ceremony sword, but in the hands of the skilled swordsman, it could take out horse and rider easily—Haruda used it well.

The man finally drew a kunai, thinking he'd aim it for the shinobi's heart, but Coushander caught it and as it spun on his left hand, he saw the inscription of his first name and knew it was his. He reflected it back just as Saru taught him, and it strayed right and grazed the man's shoulder. The shinobi watched where it landed and did another substitution jutsu to keep it with him.

He fought on defensively, and given time, he fought desperately. Kousa soon figured out he did not have the stamina to keep up with the man. He defended himself as best he could, using the substitution jutsu less and less. His hands grew tired and numb, and the sword he carried felt like a fifteen-pound extension of his arm. Haruda showed breath, but no signs of wearing. Coushander feared he was really dealing, in fact, with a master swordsman. It was the only way he could explain it.

He remembered when he was Takeshi, the rooms he was in always wore some kind of blade as a decoration. Coushander didn't understand what the object was in collecting blades, He never thought he needed a trinket in honor of a dead opponent. He grimly imagined each one of those blades had been from the people Haruda had killed. Kousa's black katana meant everything to him, he gripped it hard and decided he'd never let it go so easily.

And as he skidded back diagonally, he kept gaze with Haruda and saw the tall man had not broken gaze with _him_. It unnerved Kousa in that moment; the brown color of his eyes locked on him, and Kousa suddenly lost feeling of his chakra along the katana blade. It had retracted, and he could not use it any longer. His heart began to race to match the frantics of his mind.

He didn't know what to do.

Haruda was out –playing him on his only true confidence in sword—Coushander looked at his blade—dirty and bleeding, as if it were defective. He shoved down his thoughts and took a breath. _Dammit,_ he cursed at himself. He knew this was wildly his fault. Quickly, he scanned around, but the wolf and his brother were nowhere around. He heard nothing until Haruda startled him, "…How did you get out?" he asked.

It was the first time Haruda had spoken.

Coushander wanted to take advantage of it. He thought. "…Razumo's ghost, came out of the sky…and told me I still had work to do. He passed on to me the legacy of…the…'red eye', and then I…walked out."

Haruda smiled darkly. "I suppose he gave you back your sword, too."

"No…that was given to me by Shodai."

Haruda raised his brow.

Beneath his mask, Coushander smiled briefly.

"And how did you survive?"

"I kissed the blarney stone—how about you?"

Haruda looked at him oddly. "It's a damn wonder your so cocky—your brother isn't here to help you."

_"God dammit!"_ Coushander half-shouted.

"What?"

He wanted to pull down his mask and scream. Instead, he refrained and glared up at the sky. "What's the fucking use?!" he cried.

Haruda didn't understand why the shinobi had gotten so angry. Instead, he flipped his sword casually and lunged.

Coushander wasn't cocky anymore, it took all his strength to stay and block the man, he realized he'd had plenty of time to make a substitution jutsu, if only he hadn't became so clouded with anger everyone in the world could assume he and Saru were brothers. But he channeled that anger into his defense and fought him.

He could no longer fully hold his katana with his right hand—he was using both hands now at all blocks and intersections, and Haruda still out-powered him. Coushander tried overcoming it, but it felt like a hundred pounds of pressure on the other side. He kept this up until he had a thought.

It was probably all he could do just to weaken the man in some small way…and leave him for Saru or Dalzen…and resign himself…to defeat.

The hurtful thought calmed him in some way. He wouldn't give up, but yet he knew at some point, at the rate it was going, he would have to give in…and accept loss.

The blow came minutes later, feeling like hours, and feeling like a massive sledge that flung himself and his blade twenty feet, in opposite directions. He landed, coughing dust and he saw his sword no less than fifteen feet to his right. Shaking, he struggled to get up—until he felt another blow—not with sword, but with Haruda's foot on his leg. Coushander cried out—he felt the bone had fractured. Frantically, he turned his peripheral and saw the blade come down—Kousa rolled and quickly used a final substitution to flee the second strike.

He escaped only eight feet worth of distance and saw Haruda follow him like a cat to an injured mouse. Coushander saw the intent in his eyes and he felt afraid—he felt like a failure. He struggled—he needed to stand, but he could not. Ahead of him, Haruda raised his blade and Coushander did not know what to do—he shut his eyes and tried one last time to stand.

A moment passed—Kousa heard a clang in front of him and he didn't understand. His eyes peeked open and he realized he was inside a shadow. And that shadow belonged to Saru-Shin.

"…_'Aru_…" Coushander breathed.

He heard their blades break apart with a screeching slice that momentarily deafened his ears.

Saru struck at Haruda before he had a chance, and physically pushed him away from Coushander. Saru succeeded and guided the man further away. And the two fought—Saru only had a kunai in his disposal against Haruda's blade that was longer than a katana.

But after the enormous show of strength, Coushander couldn't shake the thought that something was terribly wrong. He saw bloodstains on the back of Saru pant leg—there was something, a scratch on his face, close to his red mark. Coushander watched his brother and saw him fight no better than he.

"…_'Aru_…" His throat was dry and his heart raced; he strived to stand.

Haruda seized after Saru strongly, as if he'd already assessed the man's weaknesses. Kousa continued watching the two, and he saw Saru buckle and stagger. _"…No…!"_ he mouthed. _Dammit, stand,_ he pushed against the ground with his right leg, his good leg, as hard as could. _Stand, you useless idiot…!_

Coushander stood with his arms wavering to balance himself fully on his right side. He watched Saru deteriorate. It wasn't like him. Haruda struck again and sent Saru's kunai flying towards Kousa—it stopped and hit the ground before Kousa's feet, but he fell anyway. Determined, his dislodged it from the earth's mouth and re-embedded it to help him stand once more. He rose unsteadily with his right side; his adrenaline ignoring the shaking inside him.

_"…Saru!"_

The other kunai Saru had drawn was knocked out of his hand, along with a ribbon of blood.

Coushander was watching—his body frozen.

Haruda lunged one last time and he blade traveled inside the shinobi.

The shinobi fell backwards, and the taichi traveled back out.

After a long moment, Coushander lungs voluntarily grasped for air.

He was never shell-shocked in his life until that moment.

Haruda stood there and simply wiped the blade.

Coushander stared at his brother's form—he couldn't breathe, he could not thing—he floated there and gaped, frozen. His lungs grabbed air for himself at intervals—he didn't know to function. After a while, his eyes welled with water on their own.

Haruda turned his own attention to him.

Once the man took a few steps, Coushander registered the crunching sound and his eyes, only his eyes darted over and saw someone coming for him. Coushander panicked, but he realized he could not move. Adrenaline held him up, and that was all it would do. Again his lungs starved for air. A trembled and fearful breath ushered out of him. When his hands started to shake, that's when he gripped the kunai he remembered he had. His eyes looked at Haruda's shining blade drawing nearer and nearer. Haruda got closer with it. Coushander inhaled. Haruda raised the taichi and lunged—

Coushander saw Saru first teach him how to catch blades…it was in the summer…He thought he was a lunatic…

Coushander's left hand reached out and grabbed a hold of the taichi and his right hand raised and shoved the kunai into the man's heart.

Coushander did not breathe for a long and painful time.

Gravity…finally dragged them down—Kousa's hand released the man's blade, and it still fell on him; the shinobi fell on his side and bruised his arm. His lungs jolted; he breathed in shock and a tearless sob that shook him to the core. The adrenaline and lingering fear in his system made him feel no pain. He breathed more intensely and he looked up and saw his brother lying on the ground. Without thinking, he held his breath and with his right leg, pushed him body forward. The dry sob served as his only way to draw breath—it was intermittent as he was shaking. But he crawled over and as he came to his brother's side, and his breath stopped again—

Saru-Shin's eyes were open.

Coushander's face contorted as he began mouthing words he didn't understand until his lungs beat him and breathed hard.

Nearly deaf, he felt strange vibrations come towards him, like those of the demon-giants. He didn't know how much time had passed—it could have been minutes, it could have been days. He shook in fear underneath his clammy clothes—someone appeared in front of him—it was a tall man…with dark hair: Dalzen. Coushander's left hand began to throb, so he tucked it under him and pressed it hard against his stomach. "…Done…" he seemed to say. "It's done," he whispered. "I…" he shut his eyes and felt hot. "I need to go home…" Coushander wavered for more second until Dalzen caught him before he fell over his brother. Dalzen held him and carefully navigated to Keiko's side, behind Coushander. The Morino laid his teammate down and pried away his left arm—it was bleeding. Profusely.

He caught Kano staring at it with wide eyes—blood was coming out as a waterfall over the skin until his whole palm and arm and fingers were crimson red. She shut her eyes and in complete shock, she blocked it out. Dalzen saw this and let Takato steady Coushander. Dalzen came over to Keiko and held her arms. "Keiko we need you."

She shook her heard violently, her face scrunched in both shock and immense fear of the blood.

"Keiko, you need to close this wound."

"I can't…I can't…I can't—I…" she sobbed and shuddered.

_"Keiko,"_ he repeated. He took hold of her hands and guided them towards the bleeding limb. "No!" she said. "I can't…I can't…" she cried.

_"Keiko, concentrate,"_ laid her hands over the wound and her heard swiveled away, all she could feel was the hot blood on her skin. "I can't," she cried. "I…can't…"

_"Concentrate,"_ Dalzen stared her down. It was no use, her eyes were shut tight. "Keiko, I need you to concentrate on what you are trained to do; forget about the blood, concentrate—on what you are trained to _do."_

The blood of the open wound continued to scare her. There was too much of it. Vigorously, she shook her head, her fingers wanted to retract.

"Concentrate, please," he begged. "You _need_ to do this. Focus, Keiko. Focus on what you have been trained to do. Seal the wound."

She tried pulling her hands away, but she was numb and Dalzen was strong.

"Keiko, don't think—_do_. Just do it. Concentrate."

His words had slowly soaked in to her subconscious—she tried focusing her chakra. She burst out a quick sob as she quivered, again, her hands wanted to break away, but Dalzen kept them there. "Don't think, do," he said again. "Focus on what you are trained to do."

Kano took a breath and tried again and saw the wounds in her mind's eye. She made her chakra grow, and she turned her head more to see, her eyes still shut tight. She increased the chakra in her hands and took Dalzen's words and focused on mending skin.

Dalzen saw her struggle. "Breathe, Keiko."

She remembered to do so, and felt her chakra level out as she let her hands move across each wound. It was black all around her, but she could sense the depth and the veins and the seared flesh and nerves. She could not mend the nerves—her chakra activated the flesh and skin and vein and nothing else.

After a while, she grew intensely dizzy, and finishing along his arm, her head fell forward and her spine followed—Takato caught her as he'd sensed her chakra fall—she momentarily fainted. Dalzen moved and looked at her work and saw Kousa still bled. Takato was already on it and handed him an already bloody rag. The young boy looked at the Morino and said, "Look at his leg."

Dalzen finally noticed it and stared up and down at the tattered left side of Coushander's body. "…Damn."

Keiko roused and blinked taking in the situation again. She swallowed and slowly sat upright; Takato supported her.

"…I couldn't seal it all the way…" she said to Dalzen. "He needs…stitches…I couldn't do it all the way…"

"…All right, all right…"

Takato took her pack and passed it to him.

Keiko saw their captain beyond Coushander—his eyes were still open. She blinked—and the picture she saw stayed that way.

She started sobbing—and she couldn't stop.

The two men knew whom she had seen—she looked again and cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. She forgot she had blood on her hands when she rolled them away. She used her wrist under her nose and finally saw Kousa's slightly twisted pant leg.

She saw Dalzen was using her pack to stitch up Coushander. She came closer and reached for the fractured leg.

"Don't," Dalzen told her. "You've done enough. Bones can heal on their own."

"No, please; please, I want to try—please let me try."

"You've done enough," he repeated.

"Please," she said again.

Dalzen looked at her, and then back to his work and said nothing.

She felt the bone and concentrated on how she could restore it's position and heal it decently. Takato assisted her, and together they set it straight Once again, the girl had exerted herself too far and slowly collapsed.

"Lay her down," Dalzen said.

Takato did and saw Dalzen nearly finished—he was sewing the needle on the tear on Kousa's arm.

"What'd…he do…?" Takato wondered aloud.

Dalzen looked behind him to the spot where Haruda's body lay. He shook his head. "Don't know…yet," he said, sewing the skin. He looked closely at what he'd done already and saw the red wounds ran diagonally in a pattered. "He…may have…held a blade…of some kind, somehow…I don't know yet." He looked back to the pack, his hands full. "Has she got tape?"

Takato looked and found it.

"Go ahead and start wrapping it."

Takato did as he was told; he wrapped the fingers together.

"She hasn't got much pain medication. I think…" he thought, "We need to get him to Bear's…immediately."

Takato nodded slowly.

Dalzen rose and saw their captain, still lying there in his and Coushander's blood.

He walked on the other side of him and knelt down. He debated whether he could really do it. There was a sick feeling in his chest. Finally he looked away, and let his hand close Saru's eyes.

Takato finished, and felt mournful with his teammate; tears stung at both their eyes in an awful silence. The air seemed hot and quaked. Dalzen looked over the two's battlefield and tried thinking what had happened. Steadily, he rose up and watched the pattern of blood on the dirt. Takato followed him.

The two saw there was a short kunai blade embedded all the way in Haruda's heart.

It was Saru-Shin's. Dalzen could tell this because the name was engraved on it. It was an issued kunai. He looked back where Saru's body was and knew it was impossible for Saru to have killed him. The only trail of blood went diagonal, and it was unmistakably Coushander's. Dalzen saw Haruda's blade was mostly clean. There were a few freckles of blood near the hilt. "…Kousa…" the Morino said quietly. "…Must have killed him."

Takato slowly nodded. "…So…what do we do…?"

"Get him to Bear's," Dalzen said without thinking. "I will get him to Bear's. You and Keiko follow when she recovers. Take your time."

"You sure…you can go by yourself?"

"I'll be fine. I'm guessing…though…the trip's about two days. I just hope Coushander can last that long."

"…All right." Takato agreed.

Dalzen looked at him. "Find Zerejin's body…and if not, be very careful."

"I'll be alert," Takato promised.

"Be sure and…collect the blades…and everything…" Dalzen added. "And do what you will with his body."

Dalzen walked back and took Coushander and the rest of the medication and bandages and set out.

Though Takato, and Keiko, when she recovered, did find a body belonging to that of Daiji, they looked high and low for Zerejin's body, and even though Takato should have certainly been able to sense at least a remnant…Zerejin's body was never found. Takato even checked all along the river below for miles in either direction—he did find some blood, but not the Wolf.

.

Dalzen did not think Coushander would make it.

He journeyed almost non-stop, and still, had to have faith.

And thoroughly exhausted, he reached Bear's house in Nichinan to see his daughter—thoroughly surprised.

Together they got him situated, and Dalzen was finally able to rest.

Takato and Keiko, with Saru's covered form, came about three days later in the evening, and Keiko was the first one to see Kousa—adequately doped on pain medication and penicillin. She saw him unconscious—there was something playing out under his forehead, causing him to twitch sporadically.

She wanted to stay with him, but Azami was kind to persuade her to get her own self looked after and cleaned up. Keiko didn't argue after seeing her smile.

And after she left, Takato felt he could freely ask, "How is he…really?"

Bear looked at Dalzen, and vice-versa.

But Dalzen suddenly smiled under the pressure. "I've—well, we've heard Coushander call out that he wants his arm cut off."

"Mm, yes," Bear confirmed grimly.

"…What?!"

"Your friend is in an awful amount of pain," Bear explained. "But so long as his arm doesn't get infection, or develop gangrene, God forbid…there's no reason to amputate," he said. "All we can do is give him something for the pain and wait."

Takato absorbed the words soberly. He looked at Coushander and felt sorry. But considering all they could was 'wait', Takato half-smiled to Dalzen, who was seated right beside him. "I guess…We've been through that before."

Dalzen nodded once and looked at Kousa. "And so has he. He's got to get through it this time, all the same—Right Coushander?"

Coushander did not respond.

"Right," Dalzen agreed. "Right, so get through this just like last time. We're all here now," Which was true. Dalzen didn't lie. "And I'm sure…Takato has brought back your things; your katana."

"Definitely," said Takato. "You'll have them, when you wake up. No need to worry. It'll…It'll be all right," he smiled.

.

All of the things were brought back. Including the diary.

Dalzen had never looked at it; their captain had always tended to it, tracking their progress; humming. Dalzen pulled it open to check the last entry. It was made over six days ago. And the more he thought, the more he felt compelled to write the last entry while it was still fresh in his mind. And the entry he wrote took up the entire remaining pages of the slim black book.

He closed it solemnly when he was done and sighed.

It was difficult to accept Saru was dead. Right now, he'd probably be comforting them all—Keiko, Kousa; Takato. He'd have been the one writing that long entry. Then he'd hum some obnoxious, forgotten tune while he kept watch under an opaque white moon. It felt like yesterday.

Dalzen sighed again; checked on Coushander, then slept uneasily like the rest of them.

The group began their journey home three days later. Sage and Jin had come up two days before to see them go. Still Keiko broke down and cried and hugged them all. (The men preferred to shake hands.) The girl said if they saw Naoko, to wish her well for them. And so they left for the port of Tsuyama, the same port they came in at. The troupe took it slow, and arrived there two days later to find the port activity bustling. They had no money, so they volunteered Dalzen to find a ship captain and work out some kind of deal. But as he walked along the dock, there was a man standing still, holding a photograph, a tourist, yet he looked at the Morino strangely, and then back at his photograph. The small man stopped the tall man and uttered; "Morino…Dalzen?"

"…Yes?"

"Holy crap! I never thought I'd find you this easy!" he exclaimed.

"…What…are you talking about?" Dalzen eyed him uneasily. "Who are you?"

"Harou Nekai," he smiled. "I am the one who took this," he flipped the picture over to reveal their team—two years ago on the dock in the land of waves.

"…You're…" Dalzen recognized him, surprised. "What are you…doing here?"

"Shodai sent me to help—it's been two years."

"Yes, I know it has," Dalzen responded calmly.

"Well—your mission…!"

"Completed…Escort us home," Dalzen smiled. "I was just trying to find transportation."

"Oh! Well…fine…be that way…" Harou muttered, putting the picture in his pocket. "We'll go and see_ my_ captain…This'll be _so_ ironic…"

It was the _Tafudachi Maru_, and it's captain was Houda, his very first command after serving with Shingatte.

The shinobi came aboard with Harou, and Dalzen thought fresh air might rouse Kousa, who had not yet woken. But his plan worked a little too well—Dalzen carried him to the rear of the large wooden deck and laid him down out of the way beneath the closed railing. Takato, Keiko, and Harou had come up behind him, and they were transferring Saru's form. He looked back down to Kousa and saw his head moving, as if he were recognizing and fighting the ships back and forth rock. The Morino found it strange, too.

But the more Kousa stirred, the more Dalzen wondered if his teammate were not fighting the boat, but rather…Haruda.

A minute later, Coushander woke up, breathing hard.

Dalzen tried to calm him, but the frenzied look he saw in Kousa's eyes was seeing past him. Kousa looked around and immediately gathered his right leg, his good leg, to try and stand. Dalzen opposed him movements, but he eventually found it easier to help him. Coushander stood; his right knee shaking—his gaze took in all of water country of the top of the deck.

Dalzen saw him alert and shocked.

Coushander coughed dust and tried to pull his left arm back as if he needed more support from the rail. Dalzen tried catching his arm but it was too late; Kousa let out a yelp of pain and sank himself back to the deck floor, banging his knee fairly well on the wood. Dalzen saw the wounds already bleeding through the bandage from where Kousa wanted to put pressure on it. It was mainly the deep scar across his palm. Coushander yelled more, but it did him no good. Dalzen noticed a few shipmates look over, but he saw Keiko come back on-deck, and he called for her.

Kousa writhed in uncontrollable pain as she mended his hand.

She fixed it partially with her chakra, and mostly with new stitches she was able to do herself. And when she was done wrapping (for the second time that day, she pointed out), Dalzen decided their teammate had had enough fresh air for the day, and he carried him below deck where Coushander was silent, but in pain, the rest of the trip.

The return trip to the land of waves took five days. And the night before they docked, Keiko took out Kousa's original stitches, leaving the ones in his palm. She wrapped it back up carefully. Harou told them there was a medical station two days just outside the village. They agreed to stop by only to replenish their supplies—the group felt they needed to be in the village—all five of them. So they set off for home, and hitch-hiked on the back of a few farmer's wagons. They arrived at the med station after two days and found the facility with little traffic. Keiko got what she needed for Coushander, giving him a stronger pain medication and more antibiotics. She and the head nurse, a Senju, cleaned his arm thoroughly, and the nurse saw his fractured bone was still healing correctly. They rested there until nightfall, when they set out again. In the morning, they found a man with a wagon who was willing to take them into the village. The back bed was empty, save four bales of straw. Dalzen propped Coushander between them and lucidly, Coushander stirred as the wagon began moving. And then, without warning, Kousa came to life, breathing hard as if he'd been fighting with Haruda. Keiko sprang over to touch him and calm him, but Coushander wildly breathed and resisted both her and Dalzen.

He was alarmed; Dalzen knew it was the same kind of lucid panic he observed n him several times hence the first time Coushander had some level of consciousness aboard the _Tafudachi_. But he was not awake—not fully, Dalzen unclearly deduced. "Keiko…back away…" he said, testing a theory.

"What?!"

"Just do it—give him some air. Let him breathe."

Reluctantly, she backed off, and so did he.

Coushander's eyes were shut tight—his breathing didn't completely subdue until a few minutes later. He calmed down—or ran out of adrenaline, and his head rocked wearily. It seemed he drifted, and another minute later, he gave up, and his head fell against the tawny bale.

Dalzen looked behind him—on his right was Harou, and Saru's body, behind him, covered. On Dalzen's left opposite him were Keiko and Takato. He looked at the blue that covered Saru's form and then at Coushander—they were directly opposite each other, and Dalzen wonder if Coushander had seen it. He wondered if that had set him off, or if it'd only been remnants of pure panic in his mind.

"…What's the matter with him…?" Keiko started empathetically at Kousa, and then her teammate.

Dalzen swallowed. "You tell me. I don't know. I've seen him do that before, but…"

"…Allow me to make an observation…" said Harou.

"By all means…" Dalzen granted.

"I've seen something like that before, myself," he said.

"So…?" Keiko looked at him. "What—What is it…?"

"Post traumatic stress. And…" Harou looked at Coushander.

"And…what?"

"And I haven't seen a response like that…in a while. He'll run down his heart so fast—frankly, I'm surprised he's lasted this long."

Dalzen saw he'd scared Kano.

"PT…SD? You think…he has…_that?!"_ she gaped. She looked at Dalzen in confusion.

He shrugged. "Keiko, we've all been through…a lot…Harou's right. Coushander's…still going through some kind of…mental trauma—mental battle."

"Her mouth went dry. "But…" She looked down, and then at her comrade. Tears came to her eyes. "But…it's just…"

Dalzen looked at her. "Call it what you will, but I think we can all agree that when he really wakes up, we're going to have to be there for him."

She cried inwardly for Kousa.

"I'm not a doctor," Harou disclaimed. "I'm just a messenger—mainly. But…I'm pretty sure that's what they would tell you."

"Oh…And that reminds me…" Dalzen said to them. "We'll have to drop Coushander off at the hospital…and then go…talk to…Shodai," he said grimly. "Or at least one of us…should go to him. It's funny though…I don't think I could sooner talk to God, than meet with him."

He saw he made Keiko smile at his comment.

Beside her, Takato cleared his throat. "Well…if you won't talk to him…then…I will."

They looked at him in surprise; "You…?"

Takato smiled sheepishly. "Sure."

Another day, and they finally reached the village.

And they noticed it immediately—it had walls. Tall ones.

Two shinobi guarded the entrance, wearing polished Konohamaru leaf-insignia head bands.

The farmer's two brown horses trotted on, and the shinobi took in the village from the backend of an open wagon.

Dalzen was sure there looked to be an oval round of some kind on the mountainside. It almost looked like the shape of a face, but nothing was defined. He saw two men working on it. The hokage's tower was by it—along with lines of houses and shops and buildings extending from there—Dalzen wondered if the old apartment building was really still there.

The wagon stopped, and the man said it was as far as he'd go.

So Dalzen took Coushander, Harou and Takato taking Saru's body. The ninja thanked the man before he went on his way. "Well…" Dalzen said. "I will take Kousa to the hospital, once I remember where it is…"

"Same spot, just expanded a few blocks—follow me," Harou offered.

The group found the hospital, and Kousa and Saru were left there—Keiko asked to stay behind and look after Coushander while the others found the office. So the men left and walked back through the quaint scene toward the hokage tower—the offices were near it…and expanded. Everything seemed structured, and with purpose.

Dalzen had the diary with him, but he was reluctant to give it away so easily to the shinobi they talked to. Takato asked him politely to go and message Shodai, but the ninja seemed to think it entirely excessive until Takato raised his voice arguably, "Please message him, it will make all of our lives much easier."

The man blinked and stuttered, seeing something in his eye. "Fine…Fine…"

So the three sat down and waited again.

"You said…you knew that guy," Takato said to Harou.

"Yes…I didn't say he was fool-hardy," Harou shrugged.

"Well I hope all our Konoha comrades aren't like that," Dalzen said seriously.

"Well…we only get nervous when we bring things to Shodai."

"Understandable…"

"No," Takato suddenly said. "Every worker…should be able to see their boss."

Dalzen grinned. "Every boss should see their worker…send him in…!"

And freakishly, at that moment, the door opened at the side hall, and Senju Hashirama walked out.

Shocked—Dalzen was first to stand. Then Takato, then Harou, all three snapped to attention.

Shodaime approached them and looked at them—and smiled. "Please, follow me."

The three followed—the Senju stopped. "Sorry Harou, I need to speak just with the two of them."

"…Yes sir," he nodded respectfully.

So, the two followed.

They followed him down into the basement where they saw many open doors, but no shinobi, or any people. Dalzen and Takato followed him into a room at the far end where he offered they sit as he closed the door.

"You've just gotten back?" Shodai asked them as he took a seat on the opposite of the table.

Dalzen was suddenly speechless—Takato raised his head. "Y-Yes, sir—We have."

The Senju smiled. "I'm honored. I'm glad you've made it back, please, if you're willing tell me all you can. We conduct interrogations down here, but please, do not feel any pressure."

The two looked at each other. Dalzen remembered and produced the diary on the table and push it towards him. "It's all there, sir," he said quietly.

"…The five of you make it back…?"

"Yes—well, no…"

Takato swallowed. "Our captain…Saru; he died."

"…I see…" the Senju said solemnly. "I'm so sorry; and, the girl?"

"Oh, yes, she's with Kousa—Coushander; at the hospital," Dalzen said.

"Is, he…?"

"He's…" Dalzen thought, and briefly looked at his teammate. "Well…should I go…to the beginning…?"

"Please—I've got all the time you need," Shodai welcomed.

The tale was told, and it took both shinobi to speak it.

.

Dalzen and Takato came back to the hospital when their meeting with a heavy Shodai ended. The two were winded and weary from it, but felt lighter than he now that it was out with and explained. Their desire to see their teammate was stronger than their fatigue.

They (eventually) found her with Kousa in a room on the third floor, the highest one. She looked just as exhausted as they did.

"How is he?" Dalzen asked.

The question provoked tears to her eyes—but she brushed them away easily. "He's…got an IV to him now."

"Oh…well that makes everything better, now doesn't it?"

Dalzen had teased her, as he'd never teased anybody before.

She cried joyfully as she nodded. Dalzen held her shoulder, sensing she had a rather large lump in her throat. "Go home, Keiko," he said. "If you remember where you live," he smiled.

"Yeah," Takato backed him. "Get some sleep."

She wiped away the rest of her tears. "So; but did you…but did you get…things...squared away…? Who'd you talk to…?"

"Oh, yes," Dalzen said. "With Shodaime himself."

Her eyes widened. "Shodai…me?"

She saw Takato grin humbly.

"…Indeed," Dalzen said, "And he wants to see us all tomorrow at one, if we're up for it."

"Oh…my…gosh…!" she said. "…Really…?"

"Really…He's very kind," Dalzen told her. "He listens. And he's…quite patient."

"Oh…my…gosh…" was all she could say.

"Yes, you've said that…Takato, walk her home. Make her rest."

"But—!"

"But what?"

She looked at Coushander.

Dalzen looked at her, "I will take your place, if it makes you feel better. He is in safe hands now—you have done all you can. Go home to your parents—they live in the village?"

"…Yes," she answered distantly.

"Keiko," Dalzen touched her. "Go."

She looked at the tiles guiltily and slowly rose.

Takato saw her home, and he smiled when he heard:

"…Hoseki!" her mother gasped, putting a hand to her mouth, crying, "Oh, dear—_Hoseki…!"_

And she cried when she held them both again.

.

The next day, their 'Keiko' wouldn't budge.

"Hoseki," Takato said, smiling. "If I could see him, you can see him."

"But…" she protested.

Dalzen gave her a gentle push. "Go."

She looked up at him wryly like she'd try and get back at him later. And nervously, she opened the door and forced herself to continue walking. Her head bent down in respect and apprehension.

Shodai greeted them and immediately, inquired after their other teammate.

The two men urged Kano to tell him herself, but she was too nervous. "…He's…still recovering," Dalzen inserted.

Shodai nodded—he looked at the girl. "Your friends were kind enough to tell me everything," he said, then to the men, "And I have seen this diary you gave me—and I must say; _usque ad finem_, you have all persevered, greatly," he said to them. "You have finished a long fight with that part of the world. You've changed—and it will change, again, no doubt. But hopefully, it will be for the better…" He looked to the black, worn journal, then to the trio; "But, I'm afraid this diary will have to remain under keeps. I would like one of you to take it, eventually—consider it amongst yourselves and let me know what you decide. It's your choice."

They left the office, and miss Kano Hoseki wished to watch over Coushander. She colored and disclosed her parents hadn't wanted her out of the house at all, but after several explanations and assurances, they'd let her go. But Keiko agreed to give up early evening as Coushander was continually asleep. Takato saw her home again, and Dalzen volunteered himself to take over.

At the rate at which their friend's inertness continued, the trio feared he might not ever come out of it. He'd suffered precious few moments of fleeting consciousness, but all ended the same as they had on the wagon. But to the nurses' attention, he'd done it enough in their view, they'd turned the heart monitor on to voice and display a watch on him. It wasn't loud, but after the initial annoyance, Dalzen found it lulling in an odd sense.

And just as he was settling in, he watched his teammate come out of a painful dream. Coushander stirred, shakily, but his eyes opened and he took in the room almost nervously. Dalzen thought he was immediately calmer than the man had been previously, but as Kousa took in the room, he saw all the grey color of the walls, and he did not see, or register Dalzen's presence. The shinobi had looked past him, glazed over, and he looked to the long window on his right. The color was evening, and Dalzen watched him closely as he continued to stare vacantly. He did not relent upon the pane, as if he were numbly transfixed.

"…Coushander," the Morino said after a while. "…How are you feeling?"

Dalzen watched him, but Coushander did not respond. He not move or blink; he continued to stare into the glass.

Dalzen continued simple question, but Kousa still continued the same response—none at all.

"Why will you not respond to me?" Dalzen thought. "Is it because…" he decided against going that route just yet. "Coushander…" he said, coming back to relation; "We're not in water country anymore. We're not on the island. We're…home, in the land of fire," He noticed the monitor pick up pace. It was the only thing that told him he was receiving a response. "Its me, Dalzen. Coushander—are you hearing me? Can you say anything?" The pace slowed. Coushander blinked—his eyes stayed closed. "Coushander, please. Do you…you remember what happened…?" Dalzen pursued him. "Do you know…you're brother…is dead?"

Coushander's eyes flitted open—but the monitor had already given him away. "…Stop it."

Dalzen was startled, though Kousa's request had been aimed at the ceiling. "You can talk—?"

"Stop it—Stop."

The Morino sensed some quiet desperation from him. He imagined the tone was as if Kousa were telling a child to behave; it was short and curt and real, just as it was quiet. Dalzen stared—Coushander's eyes were closed again. "Are you…" Dalzen wondered genuinely, "…all right?"

"Just…stop…!"

Coushander was now angry.

Dalzen was silent.

He was never able to be convivial to people, but the social skills he lacked were balanced out by some secret, innate intuition he felt now, with Coushander. The anger, the refusal of all the questions seemed to him a numb one. Considering the man hadn't made eye contact at all, he knew simple and awful trauma were misguiding the man's answers. Harou's words once again spoke in the back of Dalzen's mind, and for all the time Kano had poured into him so far, and all the revelations of this night, Dalzen knew the man had been right to voice it as such. Kousa still thought he was fighting.

But now Dalzen did not know what _he_ could voice, what _he_ could say to snap him out of it without further crazing him.

But Coushander's head turned—to the window, then after calming, his head turned a sharp left to the monitor. "Please…" he said very quietly. "…Turn that damn thing off."

Dalzen shook his head. "I can't."

Coushander moaned dismally; he moved his head again to face the wide and dark windowpane. His eyes soon shut tightly—Dalzen saw he was tiring, perhaps not of the company, but of the pain itself. "Coushander," he said. "You will get through this. You're going to get better." He unintentionally provoked a strong response in the man, in the result of further contortion of his young face—between pain and tears. Though it moved not, his lower left arm pained constantly. Coushander did not speak any more, and Dalzen decided not to inquire further.

The pain and stress propelled Coushander into a fervor the next day, where he woke up irritably—he tried getting out of bed and walking—he was caught by the nurses and he tried desperately to prove he did not need their assistance, but he wasn't fully coherent enough to make his case. But the day after, officially, they agreed helping him up, but since his left hand could not stand to hold a cane, let alone crutches, he had to rely on Keiko, to which he was set against and fought her; with the same frantic incoherence he'd had since he came.

Kano could not explain it—she could not accept him as so virulent and short with her as he was, when she knew him the direct opposite. She cried profusely when she realized Coushander was in real danger of never being the same again.

But Dalzen and Takato both watched him that night, and they watched their teammate fall asleep within the compass of the window light on his troubled face. The next morning, Dalzen had stayed with him—and the strange admittance of him let Kousa answer him that dawn. "…Ohayo," he said distantly.

Dalzen smiled broadly, after the initial surprise wore off.

Coushander's eyes opened and he looked to the pane. He walked again that day, and whether it'd been a conscious effort or not (Dalzen could not tell), Coushander was civil to him and the nurses—yet when Keiko came along, still, he could not commit to say anything to her. Takato came, too, and by that time, it was time for the pain medication Kousa so depended on, so his patience extended a ways toward him.

When they tried to tell him they'd seen the hokage, Coushander was up in arms—he blocked them out—their words and said nothing—then, after being pursued, he snapped again and asked them to quit talking, in so many words.

Another day later, Shodai asked to see them again, preferably with Kousa in their company…also, in uniform.

So, in the afternoon, the three came to get him. Dalzen had asked him the night before if he'd go—tacitly, Coushander nodded almost absently. He was dressed decently when they came—they gave him a jade color, plain vest, which was a little short on him. Kousa did not greet them, nor did he answer to what he was feeling. Numbly, he went with them—an indigo mask plastered to his face.

Shodai had asked them to come to an empty conference room on the east side of the hokage's tower.

They were not told what exactly the man wanted to talk to them about, but as he thanked them for coming, the quartet saw his younger brother coming from the side door at the front of the room before them—along with ten other people they did not recognize. They knew immediately they were all Senju; their family crest inscribed on their collars of their uniforms. Men and women, they stood in a line. Shodai's brother stood with them.

The shinobi realized they were being honored the moment the hokage started to speak. "The will of fire…" he said, standing before them "Pervades each of us in this special country. It is a brave man who heeds it, it is a brave man who follows it; it is a brave man who defends it…For it is the will of fire that will defend this village, this country, and this world…"

The man went on in the credence—a strange feeling of gravity settled on the four uneasily, at times, bringing them closer and then taking them away from a shrouded and wet island in the east. The words transfixed them into silence and stillness. And Coushander's newfound numbness betrayed him. Shodai was un-healing the patchwork scab he'd acquired.

And the man gave them each a medal—it was small and polished silver. The shape was a simple pentagon. But when he last gave Takato, on the far end his, Shodai returned to Kousa and gave him a second medal—he said it was meant for Saru-Shin.

He closed the log solemnly; "…Where tree leaves dance, one will find flames. The fire's shadow will illuminate the village, and once again, tree leaves will bud anew."

Shodai stepped back; his brother, smiling, walked up to Coushander first and extended his hand…

Coushander's wide eyes could hold no more—he turned on his heal and out the door behind them—feeling only ten degrees colder.

Keiko moved—

"Let him go," Dalzen whispered.

An awkward smile pulled her cheeks when she shook the younger Senju's hand.

The three shook hands and exchanged small words with each of them.

.

Coushander sat outside under the sun in shade, crumpled on a bench—his head palmed with his right. His left arm hung by his knees.

Shodai saw he was not crying, but shaken. He sat by him—Kousa felt the movement and sprang up in surprise. His eyes widened like an animal who'd been pursued…by the head hunter of the pack.

"Please, sit."

Coushander didn't listen to him—he stared stiff.

Shodai calmly said his name. "I'm sorry for what's happened. It's—"

Coushander did not choose to exercise the proper, methodical way of thinking. "Shut up," he said without consciousness or care of the gravity of the man. "Don't…Don't talk to me," he stuttered. "You…You have no right—No right."

The Senju was not surprised, but he considered his words carefully. "Coushander, what you have suffered—"

"Chikusho!" he spat. "Don't tell me what I've…! Don't…you _dare_. Who the hell do you think you are?! All this…All this talk of fire and will—God, fight your own damn war!" he said in fervor with the shock he stored beneath his shell. "I will not face to it!" he continued raising his voice, shivering. "What the hell was it for? You cannot tell me—You cannot pretend to tell me!" he exclaimed, wholly ignorant of the man now. "I will not face it!" Coushander barked at him. "I will not face it in your name, in anyone's name—Don't you _dare,"_ he seethed. "Don't you dare. It's wrong—It's all _wrong."_

Coushander opened his eyes—the man sat there patiently.

Coushander was aware he was breathing heavily—as if the air had densed around him, trying to choke him off. The anger of his words he strained to push through the barrier. "Dare…Don't dare…" he breathed uneasily. "Don't dare talk anymore…about him…about anything…You have…no right. I—refuse, I refuse…You have no right…"

Coushander blinked again and thought he saw Monkey.

It was Shodai's younger brother; a tattoo on his chin, stopping around the corner in confusion.

Coushander looked between the two.

And then he turned around and ran.

He ran out of sight. He ran into every walled alley and crevice until he came out and found the river. He collapsed there without effort, and the pain reared within his arm and he chocked; colder and more numb, and more empty, and more confused than he could imagine possible. He lied still; watching that pain beneath his wrist move up and out to consume his stomach and mind. He shut his eyes after a while and longed to let go…when he realized, that was _exactly_ what he needed to do.

.

They said he'd never hold a kunai again. Perhaps it was karma Coushander woke up with resilience of thought to leave the life involving blade. And that inborn resilience led him to stand the next morning and dress and apply the collar of his mask.

He found his way to the office house and went to the general reception where his teammates had first seen the hokage.

"…Can I help you?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "My name is Hatake Coushander, and I need a discharge."

It slowly went downhill from there.

Apparently, it was _not_ that easy, and yelling on Kousa's part did not warrant the process any easier. But someone heard the yelling from down the hall—and that was none other than the man he'd admonished so ardently; Shodaime hokage.

Coushander stopped and froze completely as the Senju calmly asked what the problem was. "…Well?"

Coushander stared—he turned back to the counter. "I need…to be discharged."

"But, sir…" said the woman. "He's still a hospital patient—he needs to be discharged there, for one, before here."

"Then, go back to the hospital, Coushander," Shodai told him.

Kousa glared. "…It's always something…" he muttered.

The parties agreed he would undergo psychoanalysis; if he passed, he would go, if he could not, he would have to stay. Coushander's defiance rose to extremes the first meeting, and henceforth. And the people, the specialists who came round to see him were played. Horribly. Kousa had no interest in being serious with them to pass their "little game". He denied their references, abhorred their names, their dates; their words, and sat with resolve against them entirely. He focused on shouting his rights were being violated. He debased them, violently, through his words, and soon the four he'd come to know wouldn't put up with him any longer.

He was both proud and worn, and desperate to leave.

Chinatsu was to see him last.

She wasn't associated with so much as psychiatrics, but basic interrogations. The young Senju blood in her proved to have some resilience to the initial bleeding of her ears. "I _demand_ to be let go! This is entirely ridiculous!"

"Relax, have a seat."

They were alone in the hospital room—Dalzen, Keiko, and Takato were waiting outside.

"I will not! You people think you can dictate me with orders, you have another thing coming!"

"I was only asking as one human being to the next. But, it you prefer to judge me by my headband, please do so. It'll be a welcome change that a person doesn't do it anyway by my name..." she mumbled to herself. "Anyway, to business," she said. "You are Hatake Coushander, and you've been in the hospital for…about a week now…Come back from…" she was looking at her clip-board. "An approximate two-year mission; originally slated for six months…water country…catching threats to the village; the generality…is, well, a generality. Point is, you're uptight, but you want to leave…Am I correct?"

Coushander stared. "Abso—" he cursed. "—lutely."

"All right then," she agreed easily. "Trouble is, they hold you've got a bad case of PTSD."

"Bogus."

She nodded. "Damn doctors."

"Damn straight. We finished?"

"No."

Coushander threw his right arm. "God dammit, come on. What the hell's the problem? Can't you—Can't they understand me?! I need to leave!"

"Well," she said calmly. "They do understand you, quite clearly. But the words you invoke, they believe, are not coming from your…well, that magical place called your heart."

He was surprised at her sarcasm. She caught him briefly. "What the…I speak…" Kousa shook his head of memory as tremors. "No. No, no no. I_ need_ to go home. I need—"

"And what will you do there?"

"Get away from you. All of you—"

"Stereo-typing again," she interceded. "Don't forget, Coushander Hatake, you are one of us."

"I…am not!" he hissed. "I am _not_ 'one of you'."

Chinatsu considered him, and considered how to proceed. She knew then and there in her mind, he was, in fact, still shell-shocked.

"What?!" he exclaimed angrily in her silence.

"You_ are_ a shinobi—" He scoffed. She raised her voice. "But you're not acting like one. You've been traumatized—" She had to raise her voice again. "And you only _think_ you have to leave just so you can go hide somewhere else."

"Oh fuck off!" he cursed as loud as he could, desperately shaking off an oncoming image. "Leave me be, will you?!" he begged. "All of you. I don't have to do a God damn thing anymore, that's it—"

"Why?" she interjected.

"Because I knew…at that moment…" his voice was loud and trembled, and with a fervor; "There was nothing left for me to do for Kiri—for Konoha—or for any God _damn soul!"_ he shouted, _"Does that answer you?!"_

She swallowed.

Chinatsu, in his conviction, did not know what to say.

"Thank you!" Coushander said furiously before she had a chance to retaliate. "And goodbye! I will take my leave, you cannot stop me," he warned. "Leave me be!"

He turned and went for the door; grasped the hand with his right hand, and stomped out gingerly; ignoring his teammates.

"…What…in the world…happened…?" Dalzen came in and asked the woman before he'd seen the state of her eyes.

Chinatsu quickly shook her head and continued to stare after the open door. "God…I have no idea...That man…is torn," she said resolutely. "Fully torn."

"But…he will get better," Keiko refuted shakily.

"No," she shook her head. "No, he's set. I don't believe…I honestly don't believe he could ever change his mind now. I think…it would be best…if you let him have his space. He could come around on his own—" She was going to say in a few years or so.

"No," Keiko blurted. "Coushander…"

"Coushander wants to go home," Dalzen said to her. "Perhaps she's right. He will come around to us again…soon…once he settles down."

Chinatsu stood and gathered herself. "Well…I will make my report to the doctors…"

"Thank you—" Dalzen found it right to thank her, yet he forgot her name.

"Yuukito, Chinatsu," she supplied politely.

"Chinatsu…?" Dalzen thought. "That's…a lovely name."

"…Ha!" she said sardonically. "I knew it'd happen!"

"What…?"

She smiled. "Never mind…" She reaffirmed her clip-board and headed out the door.

"What…?" Dalzen followed her. "What'd I do…?"

Keiko slumped herself on the edge of the bed and rested her head in her hands. She sighed miserably.

Takato looked at her sympathetically. "Sorry, Keiko."

She released her head and looked up. "I just…I feel so helpless. I don't know what to do."

"Well…" he walked over to her and sat with her. "Maybe…Maybe it might be best to…to leave him alone," he said gently. "Just for…a little while."

"No…" she shook her head. "No, he needs us more than ever. I—I can't accept that…He needs me…" she trailed as she thought of all his cacophonic behavior—his curses, his retreats into frantic fits…his sleep and his anger. "I just…I just don't know. I can't…If he ever left…" she worked herself to tears as she confided; "I…love him…"

.

The doctors and nurses were eager to let their dissident go. And he was equally eager to leave their company. The ninja didn't miss him, either.

They'd gathered Saru's things where they put all the rest of the lost objects; in a locked metal drawer. He pulled them out without consideration and set them in his old nap-sack. He'd pulled out two kunai blades, a headband, a green-striped scroll marked with hiragana, and the last object was a small brown book he clumsily dropped on the tile floor—it bounced open and his eyes focused at random;

_And of all the comrades, that 'ere I had;  
__They are sorry for my going away,_

He recognized it was Saru's handwriting, but not his words.

He flipped back to the beginning and read on the inside cover:

_To Monkey, from Karada;_

_'Here is my honor; here is my truth,  
__Here is my sorrow;  
__Here, is all that matters.'_

It was a haiku.

Coushander stared blankly and suddenly had a reaction.

"You lunatic…" he murmured. "Oh you lunatic…" he knew what the book was. Frantically, he seized it with his right hand and packed it in the bag. He found the two katana, one black, one white, and secured them at his waist—two little medals clinking in his pocket—the Kiri diary in his possession, and his compass, and everything that was his—the urn weighed his back.

He stealed out the door like a fugitive and walked north to the main exit of the village.

But as the walls came into sight, he heard a deep voice behind him, and it startled him and feared him—not because it almost reminded him of his brother, but because it almost sounded like his father.

"Are you going away, with no word of farewell?"

Coushander's head turned to look behind him.

It was Dalzen.

"I wondered when you'd go," he said. "I guess you're not big on goodbyes."

Kousa stared and said nothing.

"I suppose…I'm not either. I never knew to say 'hello'."

Dalzen had joked—at himself.

Coushander was quiet.

"When will you be back?"

Coushander's throat pushed _'I will never be back'_, but the silence held him tight like a steel vice. There was nothing that could stop him now; there was no point in feeling anger. He looked aside, and thought better. He found he had nothing good to say, and he lacked the will to say it.

"Well…come back to us soon, will you?" Dalzen pierced his gaze intently. "Keiko will miss you. And so will Takato—And so will I."

_'You will not miss me,'_ the tight lump ushered. Coushander cleared his throat. "Keiko will learn better," he managed. _And so will you._

Dalzen knew the tone was rooted in curtness. "Well…" he steeped closer to him and offered his hand. "Safe journey, Kousa."

Coushander winced at the nickname. He looked down and without thinking, took it, and held it.

It only felt right.

Coushander left without another word.

And on his way out, he threw his medal at the commemoration post for the village. It clinked on the plaque and fell into the grass.

He cursed under his breath just as he walked through the gate, forsaking Konohamaru to hell, in so many words.

.


	19. Walking Down the Jericho Road

(Author quick note; This chapter is for Papa. And Tahle, I hope you especially like this one.)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 19  
_**Walking Down the Jericho Road**_

**.**

**.**

It was only when he turned the bend and heard the old poplars clapping did he calm.

He knew it wasn't far now.

Crickets tuned in the early evening, and that quiet he heard reminded him of the void he knew he was coming home to. He expected it, but he underestimated it. A distant tremor told him Saru was gone, and a tug of the old maple branches told him his father was dead. There was no other person he'd seen on the road since leaving the village. He felt alone, and some part of him dared to wonder why he'd ever left in the first place.

He walked down further and kept looking for a break in the treeline to his right. He feared he'd walk past it until he saw the bush of irises his mother had planted—it was late May; they were already dying. One violet flower remained intact—closed for the night. Coushander saw the short sign-post carved, that read:

_Hatake/Mihure_

He looked down the long inlet road and saw his home dark; the one beyond it distantly lit, in their kitchen.

The ex-shinobi signed, and wearily, continued walking.

He laid down his things at his back porch and knew he was without key. He didn't think he could find it in the dark, nor did he have the will to. So he walked down toward the Mihure home and saw the creek of the ravine for the first time in well over two years. A feeling of anxiety crept over him uneasily as he looked at the bridge he needed to cross. He could easily pass it in ten, twelve steps, but it stretched his mind's eye into a long mile. Coushander shoved the feeling down as best he could, and ventured forth towards the yellow light in the home.

He heard a frog croak mid-way, and it startled him—he ran across the wood plank in a hurry. He stopped and looked behind him.

Nothing was there.

Coushander cursed at himself and headed for his neighbor's.

He knocked on the door gently, and Mr. Mihure answered the door in total surprise; he did not get visitors this late, and he was shocked to see the Hatake boy had come home—mask and all.

Mihure Rikue welcomed him in with awe. "Coushander…" he said simply, closing the door. "You've…come home…Makoto—look, who's come…"

Coushander saw his wife come in to the kitchen and stared, "…Kousa!" she said in astonishment—her expression fell slightly as she took in his disheveled, and hidden appearance. "My God—what's happened to you…?"

"I'm…fine," he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I'm home. For good."

"You're…" Rikue clarified. "…Home, now?"

Coushander nodded.

"…Where is your brother?" he asked.

Coushander faltered, and felt incredibly tense. "He…is dead."

The two exchanged shocked looks.

Makoto Mihure walked closer to him with a solemn, sorry expression, "How did he…?"

Coushander stepped back on instinct. "I'd…rather not talk about it," he swallowed and moved on, "I didn't want to startle you all…but I hope to stay at home…until I figure out what I…can do…" he searched, "What work I can find," he shook his head; he was too confused to think. "I just wanted to come over as to not alarm you someone was over there…"

"Of course—you need your key?"

Kousa nodded.

Mr Mihure went to fetch it for him—in a drawer by the doorway.

"I…I'm very sorry, Kousa—"

He winced as he looked at her.

Rikue came back and gave it to him. "Come and see us again after you've rested—you look like you need it."

"Thank you; I will."

But in spite of how hard Coushander tried to fit back in and return to some feeling of normal; he failed—physically and mentally…he failed.

Three months went by; he helped Mr Mihure as best he could to be of some use, but that use wore him down to a level of belligerence. He refused to answer the Mihure's simple questions, and he refused to stop work for it to rest. The boy's left arm was useless. And he refused, with all his being, not to look at the swift memory destined to haunt him. He feared it, he abhorred it, and Rikue soon questioned the boy's very sanity.

Makoto wrote to her daughter to come home, and Rikue took it upon himself to trick Kousa into going back to the ninja village.

Coushander had admitted to them that he had been the one to release himself from the hospital's hold; Rikue could easily see the boy had run from something; he told Coushander they were going to town to deliver straw, and their Kousa believed him easily enough.

But when he saw the tall wooden walls, he stood up in the wagon and gaped. He saw two shinobi out front, and he knew what it was. He jumped out of the wagon, and backed off, barely hearing Mihure-san; Coushander ran.

He knew then, he had to leave again.

He collected some extra clothing and his bag and brooded over the square white notebook paper on the kitchen counter very early the next morning. He grasped the pen and held the paper with his wrist, holding his breath;

_I'm sorry to cause you trouble. I'd only ask you to continue to honor my father's wishes—I don't know when I'll return. Until then,_ he wrote, _please do not think of me. I will find some way. Thank you, for all you have done; I'm sorry to have been trouble._

He left it there and went out, closing the door. The bridge faced him in the distance. He turned away from it, from the house, and left to pay one last visit on his way out to somewhere.

Coushander stood before their grove of graves in the forest.

He stopped before his father and felt the pain of loss hit him infinitely. "…I'm sorry I left," he said again. "Damn, I'm so sorry, dad," Coushander took in the small grey stone, looking at the man's name. "You…were right. There's nothing to chasing ghosts for somebody else. I wish…_God_ I wish you'd have stopped me. Maybe then…you'd still be here. I know you would be here," Kousa murmured. "I'm so sorry."

**.**

It wasn't until Coushander walked a mile north on the road before he felt a little less paranoid about his stealing away. He'd gone left on the road because it was easier than going right. Midori had been south, and he vowed to himself he wouldn't waste there with the people and industry. North held a little more mystery. And it wasn't until he walked through past the noon hour that he felt partly safe. He owed that security to total solitude. He'd seen no one on the roads—not even farmer's wagons. He saw no people, no horses; only trees, quiet, and densing on either side, and then thinning again when he passed by the long fields.

Their crops were standing well for the first day of September.

He saw some were shaving early, others, not—some corn fields bare, some still standing. The sunflowers, too, were beginning to drop their heads in tiredness and shame. Alfalfa, gone, strawberries, blackberries; here and there, rhubarb, some as defiant as ever. He knew that well. Before long, the scents were tempting; the trail winding nowhere along the spots of somewhere families like his and Mihure's lived—quaint and incredibly quiet and fond. Coushander saw them all working in their fields. "…I'm sorry otoussan," he said again, admiring a gold yellow crop.

He stopped minutes later when he heard faint thuds behind him. Coushander turned and listened—he recognized the sound of horses walking down the path and Coushander wondered where they'd come from. He saw it was a farmer and his wagon. Coushander was going to let it pass by until he saw the back was mostly empty and he thought he could try and hitch a ride. He approached it slowly, and it stopped for him.

There was an old man in the front seat; the horses seemed to him equally as old and experienced.

"Sir," Kousa said. "Sir, could I…ride in your wagon?"

"Where you going?"

"Well…nowhere. Please don't think me…" Coushander didn't know what the word was. "A…rambler, but I'm just tired."

The old man adjusted his straw had and smiled strangely. "Is that so?" he said genially. "Well now it seems you can't get to no-where fast enough."

Coushander shrugged.

"What's your name, son?"

"Hatake, Coushander."

The old man blinked and looked the masked boy over. "Hatake, huh? Strange; I once knew an Hatake."

"Really...? Maybe…my father…? His name was Takeshi—"

"No…no…" the old man thought.

"…My grandfather?"

The old man smiled again. "Well…I'm not sure, now. Yes; you go ahead, young man. Sit with me. I am Ezekiel—pleased to meet you, Coushander."

The young man stared. "…Ezekiel…?"

"That's right."

Coushander froze; an old song was fighting, vying to break through to his memory.

"You know of me?

"I…" he answered numbly. "I…don't know…Maybe…I…don't know…"

"Well," the old man said resolutely, "If I once knew an Hatake, and you once knew an Ezekiel; the paradox of time allows us to meet once again. Things of that sort don't happen often. Climb up, son, you're getting stiff."

Coushander swallowed and thought.

Tiredness won.

He climbed up, and the horses walked on.

**.**

"So what are you running from?" Ezekiel saw the boy was thinking. "I'm going to Aso—'that far enough?"

Coushander blinked, Aso was indeed far north. "Well…I…guess I'm looking for…work. I'm not really running from anything," he lied.

"But you are walking away from something. I know that story," the old man smiled. "I know that story well. And 'work' is a very humble excuse—what're you looking for?"

"Anything," Coushander shrugged. "Although…I guess I don't know who'd hire me," he said disappointingly. "I've got a bum arm."

Ezekiel had seen the bandages on the boy's left arm. They were all the way to his fingers. "…I'd hire you," he said.

Coushander stared in surprise. "…You…would?"

"Sure—but you wouldn't earn much," he smiled.

"Oh—I don't care about that…I just…want to _do_ something...What do you…do…?"

"Red wheat, yellow wheat; and a down-sized garden. I sold all my animals years ago, save these two," he nodded. "They've been with me ever since they were filly and foal. Getting old now, just like me."

Coushander noticed the mare on his right was a beautiful brown bay, the gelding on the left was a smoky gray—a race of white on his head, and white on his right hind leg.

"You ever work with horses?"

Coushander nodded. "I think I know the drill."

"You're hired—if you'll say yes."

"I will…thank you."

**.**

The old man lived in a very small house on a large piece of land, the south side of Aso. Much of it was devoted to red wheat; an intense and dark amber color, but in front of it on the east side, it was devoted to yellow, but the yellow wheat was not uniform in it's growing habit—some of it was still green—Coushander had never in his life seen anything like it. There were a few sheaves of yellow and red sitting out on the lawn. The two cooled down the horses in the barn—which was bigger than his house, and equally, as sparse and empty. "…You have...a staggered crop?" Coushander asked him.

The old man expected the question. "No. I planted that field all at once."

Coushander was confused.

"First thing you'll learn here," he smiled. "Is that this land…is special."

Coushander's questioning look deepened.

"Have you ever held a scythe, boy?"

"Sure," he said. "Lots of times."

"Then, allow me to show you…"

**.**

Coushander's primary task was taking care of the two horses, Karena and Zoeshen; as he could not yet find a good way to hold the scythe to reap the field. He practiced with it in the evening until he found a way to maneuver his left hand on the shaft. Ezekiel taught him a list of things Coushander had nearly forgotten. And since it'd turned to early September, there were a multitude of things to do, and clean up. He worked in the garden often. He stayed at night in the loft of the barn; the horses took interest in their new guest and accepted the young man easily. Reversely, Coushander took away an immense feeling of calm from their quiet presence. And he grew to look forward to their whinnies and some kicking movement in the early morning to get him going on their feed.

He helped with the harvest that year—assisting the old man in the tedious loading and unloading—and as the young growth grew up, it provided constant harvest in lesser amounts, all through the end of the year and into spring—it'd acted as if it were winter wheat.

Ezekiel learned him in the same way Coushander's father had; through repetition and doing. His right arm grew stronger than his left quickly, and simultaneously, Coushander missed his father all over again and he grew to respect the old man with his old and fabled scythe. The story reminded him of the legends his father would tell him in the night.

The old man told him the story of how he acquired it one evening; "I found it with this property," he said. "It was a very long time ago, now, over forty years ago. I remember it was in the old shed with a note tied on the pole. He'd written, 'He who wields me, holds the world,' that was what it said. I've still got it, and the blade; the pole has worn well, but it has not broken.

"I sowed a brand new crop of white and yellow when I came in, and the damn thing perplexed me—I had not idea it'd come up at different times the way it did, and yet, here, it has, for a long time. I came to understand the other man's words, and I was skeptical, for a time, but it passed.

"It's a curious thing, I know, but I had no other explanation for it, so I believed it. That scythe…knows death, and it knows it well. Every stalk a life, as God calls. Every bushel a place, a cause, a martyr. And every day and night and week I have followed it's call. God's will. I have told no one of this story. They'd shut me away for good with talk like this. Like I'm some kind of…grim reaper. But you…son, I want to make an exception."

"…Why?"

"Because," he said with a smile, "We are old acquaintances."

And even though he couldn't fully explain it, Coushander was familiar with the man—he was kind and patient, and all that was humble and private—so similar to his father. He grew attached to the horses, too, becoming educated to their habits with the old man and to each other; whenever Karena wander far to pick the best grass, Zoeshen pushed himself to follow her. It made him smile and worry; the grey gelding did not have the energy that she had. And as the time passed, Coushander saw the old man was slowing, too.

He spent nine months with the old man, and he first knew it in January, when Ezekiel gave in and let him work the fields, mostly by himself. Coushander worked as slow as he had, owing to his left hand, but he made sure to get it done the right way and get the man's long fence around his property repaired. He'd pack a lunch after the morning work was done, load the wood and nails and hammer in the small cart with the horses and set out to the worst spots. Coushander came back at night; Ezekiel usually had the feeds done to save him the trouble.

But as hard as he was working, his left arm brother him greatly; both in the physical sense, and in his mind. He took reliever for the pain, but he didn't know what to take for the repression of memory—it expressed itself in nightmare-ish dreams of a cliff and river, black birds flying high, always circling and sounding the call of a rancid, acrid death. Always, he ran from it, but the birds followed him and circled him back to the dense treeline. He woke up in tremors and paralysis. Many times he collapsed at night to the loft and woke up in terror, and far earlier than the horses. He'd wait a while for the sky to lighten, and then he'd quietly climb down and mix the feeds. He cleaned their stalls numbly and gave them water; checked the field and garden, and got the planks from the shed.

The work and day numbed his mind well—he focused all of his attention to get his thumb and forefinger to hold the nail; oftentimes he swung carefully—he'd rather not hit his thumb and make it any more useless. He couldn't hold more than five pounds—he couldn't stand to hold for long periods; his fingers and palm ended up tingling and going numb, which he figured was caution to stop. But holding nails was challenging, and it was probably the only thing that had saved the remains of his coordination.

He kept an eye on the horses, grazing, and watched them fully when he took his break in the afternoon. Karena would come over inspect his work on the fence, pretending to be interested in it when she really tried to steal his lunch from him. Zoeshen watched her and turned and grazed at random—swishing his coal-color tail from side to side, not at flies, but to attract her attention.

"Sorry, Zo," Coushander said to him, gently shooing the brown mare's soft muzzle from his face. "He wants you. Quit playing hard to get, you tease. I'm not giving you any food."

She snorted in faux disappointment; he heard one of her joints creak as she moved away.

Karena rejoined her companion; he whickered at her, and the old horse looked stiff. Coushander worried for him and soon, went back to work.

The repair to the fence took him a while, but once he was done, he was able to return his attention to the garden and field.

But come early May, he'd been there for so long, he knew the old man was sick and suffering with something—he didn't known what. Ezekiel could not go out into the field anymore, nor could he tend to anything else. Coushander saw to the re-sowing and re-planting, all the while thinking about him and the horses. Come the end of May, just before his birthday, he found the old man one morning, lying dead, in his sleep. Coushander stood there quietly, in shock, for a while. He gathered his thoughts and prayed for the man. "…Rest easy," he murmured silently, with a sick, mournful feeling in his chest. He didn't know what to do other than make a trip to the town's funeral home.

They came and got him; he was told the next of kin would be notified. So Coushander waited there in the barn uneasily; Zoeshen didn't like walking anymore, and Karena seemed to be more content as his side.

Coushander sat there on the dusty grey concrete floor and cried for them and the old man.

Everything died.

And at least someone, mourned.

The nephew came down two days later from some eastern city, and introduced himself as Warren—straight brown hair and a brow line that reminded him of the old man. "…He was sick for a long time," the young man explained. "A year ago, they told him he had six months, but he was determined to hold tight and stay here. I'm glad he had someone around to give him company."

"We met by chance," Coushander said, sensing some disingenuousness from him. He leaned against an empty stall door on the opposite wall. "I saw he took…oxycontin in the cabinet…'you know what…he had…?"

"Oxycontin is a drug for cancer—"

"Cancer?!" Coushander straightened. "Oh my God—" he stopped in disconcert. "I…I had no idea…My God…"

Warren frowned. "He was brave to continue on as he did...I'm sorry. I feel bad too."

Coushander looked at him and misjudged him. Though the family member had been away, the tone of his voice was sincere. "…I didn't know," Coushander repeated sorrowfully, "I know…he got very slow…at the end…but…" he shook his head; his throat wouldn't let him speak the rest. He swallowed and looked around the barn. "So…whose land is it now…?"

"…Mine," he answered slowly. "My father's been gone for two years; uncle passed it to me."

"Well…everything's…in working order. I could stay and help with the horses, and the field; you wouldn't have to pay me."

"Actually…I've got my life now in Tanzaku—don't take this too hard, but, I have intentions of selling it."

"…Oh."

"There's families around here that could use it; start their own life here—thanks for putting so much effort into it."

"Well…your uncle told me what to do, so I did. I…take orders easily…" Coushander sighed heavily. "Then, let me stay with the horses, until you find a buyer, it's the least I could do."

"Actually…" Warren said again with the same careful, uncomfortable tone; "Now that my uncle has gone…I know they'll miss him, and I know those horses are quite old. I was thinking it would be best if they…were to be put down."

Coushander's breath held as he looked between him and the horses. He breathed again soon, forcibly on part of his lungs, and he stared at the floor in shock. "…Oh," he said again, outside himself.

"I'm sorry, but…I think it would be best."

The thing that upset him more was that Coushander understood the young man was right.

Coushander nodded slowly, not in agreement, and not in disagreement. "I…" he cleared his throat and stammered. "I'd…like to be there, when they do it."

"Of course."

The nephew left him alone and Coushander fought tears obscuring his sight. He walked up to their stalls and Zoeshen moved his head.

Coushander smiled at his response. "Good boy," he said quietly. "Feel like you want to go out today…?" The horse's ears pricked towards him.

Karena snorted at them, flicking her tail.

He opened their stall doors and took hold of Zoeshen's cord-halter. "Come on, we should go out…and enjoy the day."

Zoeshen moved slowly—the mare whickered at him as if she too were encouraging him to walk.

"Come on," Coushander guided him, letting the horse move at his own pace. The brown mare followed obediently in assurance. He led them both into the west pasture for them to graze and sat upon the rigid fence to watch them. Coushander smiled at the gelding's achievement through a glaze of tears.

**.**

The horses were buried there.

Ezekiel lay by the garden, in accordance to his wishes; near his wife.

He left behind a note, written for Coushander; the nephew gave him the scythe in request of it:

_Coushander, continue on your way and be strong. I have faith in you. Take the scythe and remember, 'he who holds me, holds the world'._

So Coushander took it and packed his clothes and said goodbye to the nephew; they wished each other luck with mutual respect.

Coushander found the main road and took it out of Aso. His mind settled on the happier thoughts of the past nine months, ad he drew both sorrow and comfort from it. Coushander traveled down the roads; contently watching the landscape change, field after field, grove after grove. He had the money to stay at an inn, but he couldn't bring himself to interact with anyone yet. Every man he saw along the road, whether by wagon, cycle, or walk, seemed to him another young man like Warren—the bringer of change and disorganization. Coushander did not resent it, but he felt it was so difficult to accept. It almost seemed like those past nine months hadn't even mattered.

He still had some general pain medication with him he had kept in the loft; he rested and took it—he watched his left hand as he curled and retracted his finders. He was satisfied with the progress he'd made since he left—but there was on thing he'd never be able to overlook.

The scars were ugly.

Same were ridges of white, and others, like the one on his wrist, look like a blue-violet vein out of nowhere, that started and stopped like a streak of paint. He let his hand fall, and he tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about anything, save the way home.

It took him three days—most of which he spent in constant walking; looking for his familiar high road that went along Midori. He found the road the third day and smiled that evening when he knew he heard the distinct sound of the row of poplars on his left, clapping in the breeze. He walked slowly and kept looking for the sign and the irises. Coushander saw them just as it grew very dark—he was surprised to see a yellow iris still upright and intact for early June—the rest of them, the purple and the yellow, were both brown and faded. The sign told him down the little inlet, it was still Hatake/Mihure. He looked ahead and saw his past, under dusk, and quiet.

Coushander felt so weak, he deemed it unnecessary to bother the Mihure's. He felt semi-content to arrive at his back porch, drop the scythe he'd tied around him and his pack, and collapse on the wood.

Too bad he woke someone up.

Coushander was readily drifting when someone opened the back door in bewilderment. "…Get up, get outta here!"

Startled, Coushander rolled and backed off—he looked up and saw a young man staring him down—a kitchen knife in his hand. "Who the—"

"Get of this property, you thug! Go back into town!"

"No, no," Coushander had risen slowly. "I _own_ this property—who the hell are you supposed to be?!"

The young man stared. "Me? I'm Azura Takuma—who the hell are you?!"

"Hatake, Coushander. I _own_ this _property."_

"Then why the hell don't you have a key?!"

"Well…" Coushander couldn't answer. "I just didn't want to bother Mihure-san, so much for that idea—what the heck are_ you_ doing here?"

"Me? I _work_ for Mihure-san. He's let me stay here for the past six months…" He closed the back door tightly. "…I think we should pay a visit to him, 'eh?"

Coushander rolled his eyes and gestured politely the man with the knife should go first.

"I'm sorry," Coushander muttered. He saw both his father's field and Mr Mihure's were growing steadily. "I didn't think Mihure would have hired help…staying at my house."

Takuma looked at him oddly. "Well, if you are who you say you are, Mihure-san didn't think you'd ever come back."

Coushander wasn't in the mood to argue with him, or Mihure. "Oh," he said dully. "Well…here I am…"

They crossed the bridge over the water—a frog croaked.

Coushander flinched—but followed after 'Takuma'.

The young man knocked on Mihure's back door, and he answered…once again, in bewilderment. "…Cou…shan…der…!"

"…Here," Coushander muttered sarcastically.

"My God…you're…back…"

"That I am—"

"I found him on the back porch—thought he'd sleep there, I—"

"I see, you two, please, come in," Rikue ushered.

"Oh I'd rather not…"

Takuma gestured he'd go first.

Coushander grumbled grumpily and walked in.

Takuma followed—setting the knife on the counter.

"Where in the world have you been? Are you all right?" Rikue asked him.

Coushander would have liked to joke with him cutely, but his weakness wore him uncomfortable. "I'd really just like to rest, please—"

Through the doorway, he saw two women come and see what the commotion was. It was Mrs Mihure, and her daughter, Matsuko.

"…Oh! My…God…" little brown-haired Matsuko stared. "…Cou…shander…?"

"Hello…Matty."

Her smile on her delicate face was like watching the sun come up; "My gosh!" she exclaimed. She hugged him tightly. "Coushander, where have you been?!"

"Yes, where have you been?" Makoto wondered.

Coushander sighed. "Look—I'm sorry—Really, I'm very sorry, but I've been walking for days, and I'm damn tired… came from Aso."

All four voices repeated the name in surprise.

"That far?" Rikue questioned. "By yourself?!"

"Yes, please; I'm sorry…Just…" he felt hot and dizzy. "Just, please—I'll sleep in your barn, just show me out…" Coushander moved past Matty and Takuma towards the door, but stopped short and felt intensely weakened by stress and hunger.

"Son…" Rikue held his arm as Kousa's head fell. "Kousa—didn't you rest?"

His question was answered when Coushander was unresponsive.

"Takuma, help me take him home."

The boy nodded, and the two guided him back—Matsuko went with them.

"…Where the hell that come from…?" Rikue noticed the scythe when they helped him up the steps.

"Don't have a clue."

Coushander could not respond. He tried.

**.**

Their wayfaring stranger woke the next afternoon, briefly, feeling worse than he remembered feeling the previous night. He could not remember immediately much of what happened. Mrs Mihure and Matty were there, though, to look after him. He was sleeping in his old blue bedroom—two twin beds inside a room no bigger than a closet. Something cool was on his head, but he couldn't feel much outside the intense nausea that soon assailed him back to sleep.

"He looks like he was in a war," Takuma remarked later that evening.

"He was," Makoto said. "Or at least we think he was…"

Takuma was eyeing the diagonal row of scars on Coushander's left arm. "And he ran away from it," he observed.

"He didn't run away," Matsuko objected. "He just quit…"

"Matty, you don't just 'quit' being a 'ninja'. Your otoussan says he was a part of Konohamaru—you have to be discharged from that stuff. I just wonder if he was discharged…_honorably_…or _dishonorably_…"

"Oh—!"

"Well he told us…" Makoto lost the thought. "Well…I guess I wouldn't know…"

Matsuko picked up, "Coushander would have had an honorable one, I know he would."

"Well…for a guy who can come how at random, bring home a sick-looking scythe and wear a mask…yeah, I'd say he's real honorable."

Matsuko frowned severely at him. "Don't judge a book by it's cover."

Takuma smiled. "Sometimes that cover gets torn."

Matty stared harshly and then looked back to Coushander, sleeping.

"Matty," her mother said. "We should go home for the night. You cannot stay with him."

Reluctantly, she left his side.

**.**

Coushander rested and regained some strength back the next day, and the day after, he felt he needed to see Mr Mihure in proper.

Shortly after morning, after he heard Takuma leave, he finished his water and left the mask rolled under his neck. He changed his mind, though, when he stepped outside and saw the sun up over the east, glinting like a coin in a mirror. There was not a cloud in the sky, and for once, it didn't quite feel like home. He raised the fabric and looked north. There was one thing that stuck out in his mind that superceded seeing Rikue; it was a place; their grave-site in the grove through the forest.

There was a dense forest on either side of the ravine, their fields to the left of it. He crossed through the treeline on their land and walked straight north a ways to a clearing. The graves were there; his father, his mother, and someone else.

He bent before his father's and didn't know what else to do…but smile.

"I'm home," he said pointlessly in penance, "And I'm sorry it took me so long…I know you know where I was," Coushander stopped—a well of emotion leapt to him as he thought of the little house and the barn. "I'm tired," he admitted. "And I guess things have changed here, too. But…it is mine," he said. He looked to his mother's stone, and then back to the one before him. "I…'ve missed you all over again. I wish…I wouldn't have left. I'm so sorry I did…I wish…you…were here."

He felt better, seeing the grave, and committing in solitude.

He went back through the forest, instead of cutting alone the edge of the ravine like he had so many times in childhood—of course, back then, the clearing hadn't been a grave-site, but a secret hideaway he and Matty and someone else had shared.

Coushander walked over the bridge and saw Matsuko and Takuma working distantly in the barn. He wondered for a moment if Rikue's two horses were still there.

Rikue was still in the house—reading Midori's paper in the kitchen.

"Coushander—" Makoto turned around from the sink and looked him over. "Are you…?"

"I'm ok," he looked at the elder Mihure. "Please forgive me," he spoke honestly. "I don't mean to cause you all trouble again…"

Rikue smiled. "Well…even though you said—or wrote, 'not to think' of you…we feared. We feared the worst for you, Kousa."

His left hand twitched inexplicably.

Coushander seated himself across from him. "I really am sorry…"

"Well, so where…how'd you end up in Aso?"

Coushander told them briefly, in summary, of the man he met in the wagon. "…That's his scythe," Coushander explained. "He…well, he let me have it. I…appreciate it very much—please don't make any changes to it…"

"I put it in your father's shed. It's there, safe."

"Thank you."

"So…I suppose you…re-learned the trade…?"

"I did," Coushander saw where he was letting on. "Between everything…I have enough money saved to find a place of my own."

"…You won't stay here?"

Coushander shook his head. "No, I think it's best that I'm away. I'm happy with my father's plan—go ahead and keep any profit or surplus…obviously you made an arrangement with Takuma, and I don't mind; you didn't think I'd be back, I have no right to ask anything of you…only that my father's will is honored."

"But…" Rikue was dubious. "If you're not planning on staying here…it'd make more sense to sell it, or rent it out."

Coushander shook his head; "No, I won't do that."

"But you understand…that makes more sense."

Coushander took a deep breath. "It's in my name, I will never part with it."

Rikue understood his (naïve) youthful defiance well. "You know, Kousa…some things change."

"I know that," Coushander was determined to be patient with him. "I do, I really do. I know it…" The memory of the horses and the old man's grave flashed to mind. "…well. I do. But this is mine, and it will stay mine for the time being."

Rikue knew he could not convince that measure of adamancy. He shrugged slowly. Time would learn the boy, he thought. "…It is yours…and your father's words, too. It's your choice…Where you looking to settle?"

"I don't know," Takeshi's son answered honestly. "I'm going to have to look."

**.**

"And, then, you're going to have to have a driver!"

He smiled.

Matsuko sat with him on the floor of the old back porch. He'd taken a rest that afternoon, and felt only slightly sick.

"I could take you out anywhere," she offered.

"I'm fine walking."

"Oh no you're not…" she observed matter-of-factly. "Coushander…" she said softly, staring at his mask, "Why…are you…wearing that…?"

He looked at her—then to his feet.

His silence was uncanny; "And…what happened to your arm—your hand?"

He knew she was probably burning with questions.

"I'm not going to talk about it," he said calmly.

"…Why?"

"Because…I'm not."

She frowned—and inadvertently made the evening sun shrink further behind the treeline.

They sat there in silence until she tried to pursue him, "Coushander…" she said so gently, "May I ask—"

"No."

She blinked. She could not read him as she used to. "Wha…You…You don't even know what I was going to ask—"

"Yes I did," Coushander forced himself up.

"But—" She rose with him. "Kousa…"

He stared at her sternly. "Don't call me that."

"…Why…not…?"

"Just _don't,"_ he said warningly. She was too sweet to shout at.

"But—"

"I'm tired; goodnight, Matty."

He left her out there.

Matsuko suddenly had no idea who he was.

She went to barn and cried near the horses.

**.**

Kano Hoseki looked as if she were about to cry.

"…Keiko…!" Takato suddenly frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing…" she said, "Did you…find Dalzen?"

"Yes I did—said he'd come."

She smiled for the first time that day. She depended on his words, and she could speak freely. "I can't believe it's been a year—I'm so glad you guys came back ok—how was Suna?"

"Fantastic," Takato grinned. "We came back by Dalzen's old stomping grounds—it was pretty neat. 'Course you still can't go through county fourteen, but…we came close…"

"I'm glad," she said, smiling.

"He missed it," Takato said, hands in his pockets, "I know he did."

Her smiled faded. "I just wish…Coushander would come back already…"

"…Oh…" he said. "Oh…that's who you're thinking about…"

"He's all I've been thinking about…" she sighed. "I just wish," she said, full of heart, "I wish I knew where he was—I wish he'd come back..."

"It has been a long time," he said, thinking.

She nodded—her eye caught a tall figure coming down the road He was with a woman, shorter than he—a little shorter than herself, talking with her.

"Dalzen!" Kano smiled.

"Hi Keiko."

"Hello, Hina!"

It was Yuukito Chinatsu, the woman they'd met when Coushander was in the hospital. Kano knew her well now, they'd become friends. Though the woman was five years older than her, they shared nearly the same birth date—Kano's was the tenth of February, and her's, the eleventh. The two also shared one other peculiar trait—the two women did not like their first names. Chinatsu held her mother, a Senju, had named her as she did, and she'd teased their friend Dalzen enough—he'd been the first one to learn her nickname. Hina teased him often, causing the Morino apologize to her half a dozen times when he saw her. But Keiko smiled as she saw them together. She had a secret thought Dalzen had taken a liking to her, and Chinatsu, the same.

"How in the world did you ever break out of the med station?" Chinatsu grinned.

"Oh—I managed," Keiko smiled. "I took a few days break I had coming to me. Things have slowed down, too, now that the raids have stopped—I meant to ask you two—did you run into any raiders on the west side…?"

Takato grinned sheepishly.

"Yes, we did," Dalzen smiled, "And he dissuaded them quite well."

"…You did…?"

"Well…" Takato mumbled. "You know…"

"My goodness," Chinatsu observed. "You all are really the most humble group of ninja I ever saw—I think you're worse than the Senju, and believe me I know them. My uncle was just like that. Accept your laurels! I'm surprised at you, Keiko, apprenticing under my aunt!"

She smiled. "It's no big deal…though it was scary at first."

"'No big deal'!" Chinatsu repeated. "…Honestly…!" She moved and led the way towards the tavern near the mission office; "Let's go in and find what else I can snitch out of you three…!"

Kano's mind corrected her word with 'four'.

"Sometimes, missions are confidential," Dalzen objected.

Chinatsu laughed. "Never stopped my aunt! I'm sure Keiko's learned some…interesting things…"

Keiko woke herself and smiled. "Sometimes…I plug my ears…" she confessed.

Hina grinned at her. "I don't blame you."

**.**


	20. Twenty One Letters

**Disclaimer**: Kariko Emma does NOT write romance. But Caliko realizes, (similar to Marlow), now you have asked for one, so now, she gives it her best. (I know nobody really asked for it, this is just how the story goes anyway, and it reminds me of what Marlow said in Lord Jim. And p.s., I had a brief crisis in this one. I suddenly wanted to scratch Coushander and re-name this story 'Little Matty'. But, Cou's not really like A. Clennam, so I digress…)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 20  
_**Twenty-One Letters**_

**.**

**.**

"This one's mostly residential, but it's got land listings on the back."

"Thanks."

He'd been home an entire week.

"How many acres 'you think you want?"

"I don't know," he said, turning a grey page. "I guess I'm first looking at prices…"

Matsuko smiled. "Coushander…I wish you'd stay here. It'd be so much easier."

"I can't," he said again. "Sorry Matty, really I am."

"And you've been apologizing ever since you came back! You've nothing to be sorry for!"

Coushander looked up at her, then back to the printed listings. "Sorry…" he smiled furtively.

She grinned, "Coushander…" she lost the thought as she looked at him.

Matsuko admitted to herself, she did not know him anymore, and it saddened her deeply.

As far back as she could remember, she'd always looked on Saru-Shin and Coushander as her elder brothers; when Saru left, they stayed together and continued helping their parents, and in her case, she continued school. When Coushander left, she'd been fourteen—it broke her heart, and she mourned as if he'd gone to the moon. He was twenty-three now, and she, twenty-one. His voice had changed—she knew that much; hers too—and he'd gotten taller, herself as well, but still shorter and willowy as ever. She'd continued school and she remembered her mother had written to her when he came home the first time. She'd left her uncle Mihure's in a hurry, only to find him gone again. Matsuko desperately wanted to quit school, anyway, so she got a part time job in town and stayed home to help her father. She hadn't been bearing the separation from home well, and she prayed Coushander would come back to them.

He father would ask questions to those he knew if they saw him, but Kousa had seemingly disappeared off the world—she never dreamed he'd gone so far north to Aso.

She never dreamed he'd come back looking like a ninja, but chiding so much vehemence against them. It didn't make sense to her. And what troubled her more, was that Saru's death was still a mystery to them. Matty longed to ask him if he knew, but every time she even came close to it, he shot the fragment down in a hurry.

"…What is it?" he asked her, turning a page.

"…Nothing…" she said softly. "It's just…you've changed."

"Everyone changes," he said quietly, looking up at her. "You've grown up."

She smiled. "So have you—if I could only see your face."

He frowned and said nothing, turning back to the leaflet. 'Sorry' was all he thought to say, but he didn't feel like being redundant.

**.**

He helped Matsuko secure the horses with the empty wagon, and then drove out early the next morning. Coushander had three properties circled; one being west of Midori—the second back east, just south of the town.

The last house had been listed by a private seller, a Mr. Stein.

It was along their way back east from the other two, and the only thing that bothered Coushander was that it was just south of Konohamaru.

Their L-shaped trip stopped, and Matsuko looked at the booklet with the small picture. "I guess…this is it."

Coushander stood and suddenly grinned.

The wood house looked slightly dilapidated, and the land was mostly flat—a creek dipped on either side in an eight-foot wide trench. Forest lay on both sides and behind them, off the dirt road.

"…I like it," he said.

He stepped down and stared.

Matsuko laid the reins down and looked on with skepticism. "Coushander…it looks like that house needs some work to it…" she said lightly.

"I like it," he nodded, waling forward to the front porch.

She shook her head, smiling, and followed him. "What makes you like it? The fact that it looks…old?"

"It has character," he said.

"I thought you said you didn't want to be by the village."

"Well…I guess…it's…what, six, seven miles out…?" he said, trying to convince himself otherwise.

The door was left open for visitors—it was completely brown and barren inside. It opened to a small den—the bedrooms were no bigger than his old room: as small as closets. He drew an immense feeling of home from the cramped sizes. The kitchen was the largest space at the end of the house—bare counters and cupboards.

The backyard was mostly flat—in total, it was forty-two acres. It was also the cheapest thing he'd found—the price seemed to cover a little more than the bare worth of the land.

He admired it, greatly.

There was one other sour note.

Stein's office, the booklet told, was located in the heart of Konohamaru.

Coushander debated long and hard with himself whether to go or not. Matsuko offered she'd take him the next morning—her gesture and confidence swayed him in a reluctant inclination to go. She had her father's two horses—the palomino and the buckskin ready to go, and so he agreed.

He felt like bringing a saddle blanket to cover his head when he came through the gates. He prayed hard no one would know him. He prayed fast no one would notice him.

Stein's office was in a rural district, middle-east side—a small office nestled between a store selling dango, and a flower shop; with a bright and fresh-smelling display out in front. Matsuko waited for him and he waited to see Stein.

Coushander was very surprised to see him come out of the door—a young man with neat clothes, who could not have been much older than himself. The man introduced himself as Daniel Stein.

Coushander was even more shocked by the office he led him into.

The four walls of the small room were covered with hanging blades.

It was a three-dimensional wallpaper of tantou, village kunai, various katana, taichi, kodachi, and Coushander even saw a misshapen one that looked as if it were a crescent moon with pricks coming out it's side as a on a rose vine. It acted as the top center of the east wall on his right.

Daniel was smiling as he sat behind his desk—from what he could tell, the other young man looked perfectly mortified, as all his prospective clients usually did. "…What may I help you with?"

Coushander stopped staring, but the sick feeling in his chest raised goosebumps on both his arms and neck. Cautiously—as if one would dislodge and attack on his position—he sat in the chair opposite; he noticed the desk was relatively clear. "Well…"

"Do not be alarmed by the scenery, please, go on."

He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm interested in the property south of here—forty-two acres, on the Woodland Lane, there."

"Ah!" Stein exclaimed. "Really?! That one?!"

"Um…yes."

"Dear God! I never thought it'd happened!" He laughed to himself. "That property—my father tried so long to sell it…and now he passed it off to me," he leaned over and reached into a drawer. He pulled out a manila folder and shuffled through the contents to present the overview of the house and land. He gave the paper to Coushander and smiled, "Fifteen years it has stood empty. I've been trying to sell it now for three years. Originally owned by a middle-aged man; he left it when his wife died. 'Moved back with his son and daughter back east in a coastal town—they're still there, but he's moved on, now. Yama…hara…think it is. Then, an older couple lived there for a while, but it was too far from their old home, so they left…'been sitting there lonely ever since. Fifteen years," Stein said, crossing his arms. "Empty as a barrel. No offers because of the shape the house is in. Damn small, too. Have you seen it in person?"

"I have."

"You have? Well! You're even more remarkable than I thought!"

Coushander smiled to himself. "How much lower can you keep driving the price down…?"

Stein scoffed. "I'm not going any lower than the land's worth."

"Fair enough—but I can only afford so much," Coushander said carefully.

"Why are you so interested in it?"

"Mainly for the land—I'd like to grow wheat."

"Dear God! Really?" Stein looked him over and stared curiously. "You must be a country boy then…and you must not care too much for fancy lodgings…"

"No," Coushander smiled. "No…I don't. It might be just what I need."

"You look young—how're you going to afford it—and the farmer's loans—the insurance…?"

"I've thought it through," he said. "I'm well aware of all the costs involved. I'm also aware of the house—I plan; I can account to fix it, over time. All I really care about is a roof over my head."

"Well!" Stein seemed impressed. "Yours is the first offer…ever! Who am I to turn you away?" he wondered aloud. "You want it?"

Coushander drew a breath and looked at the brown house's picture. "…Yes," he said, and named an offer.

Stein considered it for a moment and looked at him. "The price is more negotiable if you could give me on thing."

Coushander thought; "…A down payment?"

Stein smiled. "As you can see…I am a collector of the blade. Tantou, katana, taichi—kodachi…I am fascinated with it. And these blades…are not without their stories. Some belonged to Senju, some Uchiha, some Hyuuga—some ordinary clansmen—from all over. So, I suppose you know where this is leading."

Furtively, Coushander bit his lip.

"I suspect you're shinobi—"

"I am not—I never was."

"Oh…Forgive me. You just look like the kind of man…"

Coushander took offence to it, but he swallowed his pride and said, "But…I might have a little something I could offer."

"Katana? Tantou?"

"…A kunai," He was thinking of his own.

"…Engraved?"

Coushander nodded.

"One of the early ones!" Stein exclaimed. "My God, man, I accept your offer! God, they stopped doing that years ago!"

"…They did…?"

"Yes sir—they won't be doing it again, either; cost is too much."

"Well…" Coushander wondered distantly, "What do they use for identification…?"

"Dog tags," Stein said. "Pure and simple. The number of ninja in the village keeps going up, so they're just being economical."

"Well…I'd have to go back and get it…"

"It can wait, the papers won't." Stein grinned as he produced them from the folder and showed him where to sign.

**.**

Mihure Rikue was astonished Coushander traveled inside the shinobi village and came out again. The young man also made a return trip there—delivering some obscure thing (a bartering tool to the deal), Coushander would not reveal what it was. He only came back in a snappish mood, with a house bought and sold.

Coushander remembered—always remembered the man's smiling face when he saw the kunai. He turned it over several times and held it up and down, voicing 'remarkable' at least twice. "And coincidentally…" he said slowly. "Whoever the man was…shared your name."

"He was a fool."

Stein paused his fascination to look at the Hatake. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome."

Coushander had never understood what the point was in collecting blades.

Rikue caught him with the key—"I'd wondered where that'd gone."

"…Sorry," Coushander apologized.

"I'm guessing you took something from there and gave it to that man."

Coushander was dead tired of the older man's questioning. He knew it was rooted in some level of distrust or pity—he'd sensed it when he first came home. Coushander admitted he'd been weak and confused back then, but he needed to show he was stable and patient now, so he did as such, "It was mine to take," he said plainly. "I put my things in that chest a year ago. Things I never wish to see ever again—"

"Your brother's things?"

"My brother had nothing," Coushander lied before he thought. He shook his head—"You're right. I negotiated a deal, and the…blade I had, was mine to give. I want no one to open that chest."

"Well you sure made sure of that, I could never find the key."

"…I took it with me," Coushander admitted.

"Did you…?" Rikue looked at him with concern.

"And I will take it with me when I go."

"You leaving…tomorrow?"

"Yes—Matsuko said she'd help me load the wagon tonight."

"Well…" the older man, too, was trying to be kind. "I hope you've made the right decision…You're different, now, every time I see you, Kousa. It still seems like only yesterday you all were just children."

"I've changed," Coushander said. "And…I will tell you…I'm sorry I left for that village, years ago. I'm real sorry I did."

The young man, he knew, wasn't going to say more.

Rikue watched him go back into the house and he wondered, how bad a hell the Hatake boys had gone through as ninja. He felt he might never know the reason for Coushander's silence, or the cause of young Saru's death. He felt Kousa had come (mostly) to his senses now, and continued his unyielding silence with the utmost resolve in him. And that resolve quieted itself without shakes or tremors, but a hard and adamant voice, just like his father. Rikue talked in private with his wife that night—where he confided serious doubt over Coushander's actions. The boy seemed impulsive, but at the same time, Rikue knew Kousa still understood his father's way of life. And when the boy had expressed regret in joining his brother, he could not doubt the boy's will to start over. From scratch—just like the way his father had done.

"Takeshi was a private man," Makoto recalled fondly.

"True. But he never ran off in his youth to fight wars. He never had the…trauma his boy went through."

Makoto frowned as she thought of the difference between the bright child and the hardened adult; it pained her they were the same man. "Well I hope Matty could trigger some sense in him—they were such good friends."

"Well…" Rikue lowered his voice, wearily touching the bags under his eyes, "After Coushander leaves…I'd encourage Matsuko never to think of him again—if anyone should, it's her."

His wife frowned. "…You can't be_ that_ serious."

"I am. She likes him too much."

"She's always liked him."

"Exactly. But the boy is different now. I don't want her near him after this is over. It's not good for her to hold on as she does—Coushander's proven…unpredictable, if anything. Even if he does manage to make a profit…which would require a miracle…he'll be working so hard—Matty should not pursue him."

His wife smiled. "You do realize she's an adult…if she wants to write to someone, she can, perfectly well so on her own dime."

"Well…" he admitted. "I can't stop her for that…but there has to be some kind of limit of heartache a young girl can take…She'll find someone else," he concluded. "There still a few good men out there."

Makoto doubted it—she knew her little brown-haired girl wouldn't give up on him; but she didn't know how long Matty would try.

**.**

Matsuko drove Coushander out early the next morning; the wagon loaded with all he needed. Stein had the papers in readily—the little house was is, with a house payment to look forward to. She helped him un-load the wagon—the house things in the house; the field equipment out by the back porch. Coushander did not trust the shed in the side-yard just yet.

He thanked her twice, and then told her to go home.

"But can't I help you put things away—?"

"You've done enough already, Matty, thank you."

"But…"

"Just go, I'll get things going."

She smiled loosely, "But…Well…If you need help—if you need the wagon…please, please just let me know."

He nodded. "I will," he watched her smile sink downwards. "Promise," he said.

Her smile was a sad one. "Oh…Kousa…" she said, watching his eyes.

"Just don't think of me. Get on with your life."

"How can you say that…? I wish…" she didn't want to be hard with him. "Coushander, I've always missed you," the girl said, her words bringing tears to her eyes. Her voice was sweet and gentle. "I've missed you for seven years, and I'll keep missing you. You have me, always. If you need anything, I'll help. I will. I just wish…I knew why you're so…changed…" she said.

Her sadness touched him. Matsuko had always been like a little sister to him; it hurt him she worked herself so much over his behalf. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

"Oh quit that…" she tried to laugh.

He smiled, and look at her in earnest, "I…have realized now, I should never have left," It was easier saying it a second time—he believed he meant it in full. "And for that, I apologize, sincerely."

"But…But Saru—"

His left hand instinctively came to cover her mouth. "Don't say it," he said and let his arm fall.

He caught her by surprise—her brows furrowed in confusion. "What…?" she didn't understand him. "What…What in the world is wrong?" she stammered quietly. "Please tell me…Why can't you tell me what happened to y—"

"Nothing is wrong. Not anymore…" he let go a small wall of tension. "I'm where I'm supposed to be."

"But…" She dropped her head. "I still don't understand."

"I ask you to. I ask you to, or just forget about it."

She looked up at him with her eyes; "Don't you like us as neighbors anymore?"

They shared a smile in levity.

"I just…" he thought. "…want…to be left alone. That's all."

Matsuko frowned again. "That…sounds depressing."

He smiled. "Well…that's my choice—now go. I can see Hisashi stomping his hoof. You don't want to drive back with a grumpy buckskin, do you?"

She looked behind her, and saw it was as he said. Still, she searched his muted eyes and asked, "…Sure?"

He nodded.

She felt like crying.

Matsuko leaned and hugged him.

He didn't expect it…but it felt only right.

She let go and smiled strangely, and bashfully. "See you later…" she squeaked.

"Sure," he nodded.

She swallowed; "…Bye."

He waved to her as she left down the road.

Coushander turned around and felt the tension return to knot his stomach.

He had a lot of work to do.

**.**

He did not see her wagon come round anymore—as if he would have stopped to notice. But a month later, when he walked into the post office (half asleep), he opened the p.o. box to find not just his bills, but a letter from her. Looking at her handwriting made him smile. Small, correct, and pretty—exactly like her. He closed the box and walked outside. He kept looking at it and couldn't fight the temptation. So he sat out there on a bench and opened it, reading:

_Dear Coushander,_

_Things are sad without you, but I pray you're finding meaning at your new place. I hope you're getting in your crops well, and the seeds; and I hope you've haven't wore yourself out yet. I hope things are going good for you._

_There's not much going on here, it's the same old same old. I hear on the radio the old crop's going down—hope yours makes a profit. (Let me know when you need help!) I guess I shouldn't write so much about work—you're probably tired from it. I think Takuma is enjoying his privacy again—I think all your initiative rubbed off on him, he's been thinking about his future more—focusing on saving his money—maybe taking up another job. I'm not quite sure how though, my father depends on him a lot—and me. I wonder too about what else I could be doing—I didn't like school; my dad says I should use my degree, but I'm so much happier helping him and doing field work. I still work at the flower shop, helping Mrs Koda. She's getting a bit forgetful, and sometimes it hurts me to know she'll keep declining. Her niece will no doubt run the shop if anything should happen. I pray for her, and you._

_Anyway, I understand if you don't write back. I know you're busy. I think if you_ did _write back, I'd be concerned…So, please, take care—and I'll write you again soon, I promise._

_Matty_

**.**

He laughed and smiled. _Oh Matty,_ he thought.

The letter refueled him to deal with his land and the loans and the stress.

He revered his father deeply now, and he thought of Ezekiel often; sometimes talking to both of them aloud as he worked. He had to talk to something. He became acquainted with the man in town at the general store and he grew familiar with that small town south of his property—Kujira. It was where he transferred all his accounts; it was where he took his farmer's insurance, his mail; his bills. And Matsuko had been right—he didn't have time to write her back…but he kept each of her letters in a safe place in his small bedroom.

It was hell outside—the house, the land…he battled it since the very first day. He worked the outside every minute to tame it and shape it and build it into a viable resource. Within the first few months, he realized too late he spent more on pain reliever than cans of soup. Matsuko's letters let him laugh at his faults, though. He was grateful to them, and to her when she helped him move his first load early the next spring.

He met many ordinary men—he got familiar with those around him. A middle-aged man and his wife had come to see him one evening, expressing surprise someone had finally bought the land. The two owned fifty acres on his east side.

And when he took out his first load with Matty, he met a man who was also another seller—with a load about the size of his own.

Coushander had been talking to the older man when he saw someone staring at him.

The man came over as they unloaded the bushels. He was stiff—tall, with an intrigued look on his face that made Coushander think of a businessman, rather than a farmer. "…You aren't going to get rich selling that," he said smartly.

Coushander looked at him. "…It's not my intention to get rich."

Kosaka smiled, very pleased with the man's answer. "Sorry," he smiled. "I ask that to all the guy's I've never seen here before…" He extended his hand. "Kosaka, Shintaro."

Coushander took it, giving his name.

They saw each other many times at the drop off point.

Coushander spent the next few years in hard labor, and exchanging letters with a brown-haired girl.

The perpetual feeling of panic in him lessened slowly as his land progressed and garden structured—he repaired the old shed, but the house, for the most part, still waited for him in places. And in each of Matsuko's letters, he knew there was someone else waiting for him. He didn't know how to dissuade her from it, only to return it as best he could with a letter in response and a recycled stamp—one of the last secrets of his youth he didn't mind enacting.

And somewhere along the line, as the seasons passed, he grew to depend on those letters; she sent more than he was ever able to, but each of them was unique with a different theme or mood—her life changed little; she became a full-time employee when Mrs Koda's health gave way—she did not use her religious doctorate to go into the church like she'd planned. Her father, she thought, grew weaker every year—her spare time was devoted to home, getting their own finances straight in case anything should happen. But energy bounded in her letters as she talked about it, and when in one letter, she talked—wrote simply of walking along the ravine, Coushander could not explain why tears came to his eyes. He didn't want to admit some part of him missed it as if being without his other half. She didn't have to describe it as she did—the child's eyes he looked through so long ago provided a more than accurate view. He thought of the trees, the steep and short hill, the brown water, and the frogs. He could remember a summary of a day; helping his mother and father and then going back out there to run endlessly and get lost, and be found. Finding stars, and twigs, and stones—and everything that creeped in the woods and in his imagination. Little brown-haired Matty often time, at his side.

When he came upon his fifth year at his new home, he thought of the girl more and more in a different way. He found he expressed himself more clearly through the written word, and he surprised himself at how much care he wrote back to her with. Always, he meant to—she was too sweet a person not to. But her steadfastness encouraged him—he thought she might find someone else, like Takuma, but her letters were clear with attention only to him. He was both flattered and saddened. He remembered telling her in one letter, she would have no trouble in turning the head of a daimyo's son—_why settle for a poor boy?_ He was honored when she wrote back to him, 'I think they have not the humility, humbleness, and bravery of you'. Money never made her happy, or anybody else in their families happy. Coushander learned at a young as the importance of saving every penny. He returned her letter later and stated openly he turned into the most frugal, chintzy man she ever knew, disclosing the secret shame in his father's old trick of reusing stamps.

_'I won't tell a soul!'_ she exclaimed the first line of her next letter._ 'But I don't ever remember your father doing that! How in the world…no' _she left off. _'No, I suppose I shouldn't ask how. If it works, so what? Coushander, I feel bad though…that's probably why you write me when you do—you're busy cleaning the stamp…Oh dear Lord Coushander, what will we do with you…?' _she teased. He knew she worried, too.

Twenty eight years old, he came up in early June on a Saturday without warning to surprise her. He traveled west, and then north, back to Midori. He came in his best clothes, and kept running through the questions and intent in his mind and heart. He had serious doubt Matsuko's father would answer either of his questions in the affirmative.

He arrived home late in the afternoon off a straw wagon. Coushander thanked the man and saw a few of the irises were still up—a yellow and a violet. The sign post looked like it had been attended to—the grass looked freshly clipped around it. He walked down the dirt road and saw the fields on the left. He saw a new blackberry bush, as Matty had written, on the right. It was caged with chicken wire in a square.

He saw Takuma about to go inside and he caught his attention; "Hello—you don't mind me dropping by, do you?"

"Oh…" Takuma took a moment to recognize the man's face—the mask was curled around his neck. "…You again…" he observed slowly. "…For how long…?"

"Just for a day…or two."

"Oh…gee…" Takuma looked thrilled.

Coushander walked up the porch and into the house with him to leave his things. "Is Mihure-san at home?"

Takuma nodded. "What've you come back for?"

Coushander smiled. "I've just come to ask him something, that's all."

He crossed the bridge and came to their back door—Mihure Makoto expected Takuma or her daughter and found him, instead. "…Kousa…?!" she exclaimed slowly—seeing his clean face and clothes. "My goodness…how are you?"

"I'm...well, thank you—may I see Mihure-san?"

"Well…he's sleeping…a short nap; could you wait?" He nodded and she continued looking him over. "What…are you here for?"

"I only want to ask him something."

"…Oh. Is it…about the land?"

"No, nothing like that—I'm doing all right. It has to do…well," he smiled. "I'd like to speak with both of you, I guess. It's nothing serious…Just…personal. How long until I could see him…?"

"Oh! Well…before…after dinner—doesn't matter."

"Then…can I see him this evening?"

"Oh course!" she smiled. "Takuma's outside—and Matty's in the barn…somewhere."

"Thank you—I'd like to see her."

Makoto smiled—pleased Coushander was so kind. "Of course. Tell her dinner will be ready in a half-hour."

"I will, thank you."

**.**

He saw the slender girl brushing the buckskin in the stall. Coushander heard his left front hoof stomping every now and then. "…Hold still," he heard her say. "I know it's hard being cooped up, but it's only for another week."

He bobbed his neck and snorted loudly.

She laughed. "…Good boy…" she said to him.

Coushander cleared his throat. "Matsuko—dinner's in a half-hour."

Her head turned at the strange voice—she froze for a while, looking at him, his face, his navy clothes; his silver-color hair. The horse shifted in confusion—her brush dropped from her right hand—Hisashi stomped his fore hoof to wake her up. She didn't seem to hear it though—her left hand covered her face—tears in her eyes, "…Coushander," she laughed and teared at the same time. Matsuko led herself out of the stall and started at him for a while more before hugging him.

"…Coushander!" she said as she let go. "You're…here…!"

The old buckskin behind her thought he could follow her, but his hind leg wouldn't move him far. "…What's wrong with him?" Coushander asked.

It took her a moment to know what he was talking about. "…Oh!" she said as she heard the horse grunt. "Hisashi!" She turned around and coaxed him back into the deep straw. She rubbed his head apologetically, and she closed the stall door properly—he snorted in jealousy.

"He got…a bum leg?"

She nodded briefly, looking back at him. "He gave himself a really bad bruise…he thinks he's still a colt…" she smiled. "He's gotten older…he's just a little stubborn, aren't you, boy?" She looked at Coushander. "So…" she smiled broadly, still disbelief in her eyes, "You're home…!"

He nodded, smiling at her. "For a day or two," he answered vaguely on purpose.

"What for…?" she asked. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah… everything's fine."

He smiled in perfect knowledge of his plans, and she smiled in curious suspense.

"I've just come back to ask your dad something."

"…What?" she wondered.

"You'll see…"

**.**

"So what's this about?" Rikue asked him in private that evening—Makoto was also there with him. Coushander frowned as it looked as if Matsuko's father was not as strong as he once was—yet he took comfort the man's voice was still very strong and to the point.

Coushander's smile was small, and open for him to judge. "I've come to ask you two important things."

Rikue nodded, watching his face.

"The first…I know when I came back…the first time…I know I lost your trust."

Mr Mihure interrupted him. "It wasn't so much trust…rather…you quickly earned…my sympathy."

Coushander knew he had most likely meant to say 'pity'. "Still…" he continued. "I went off again, and I know you concern…deepened," he worded. "But I don't think I ever earned back your full trust…your faith, properly. With all I've done these past years…I wonder now if I have earned it back."

"Well…" Rikue considered silently. "…Why do you ask?"

Coushander smiled awkwardly. "Because…your answer leads me to my next question."

"…And that is…?"

The couple looked expectantly at him.

"Well…" Coushander admitted slowly. "I wondered…if I could marry…your daughter."

Rikue was surprised—completely; Makoto a little less. She smiled in a mixture of pride and awe—her husband looked at her strangely, and then at the young man. "…You what…?"

Coushander's smile was as humble as he felt—"I would like to marry Matsuko."

He surprised Mihure again. It was a while before he could speak. "…I see."

Coushander had successfully predicted his response and still felt let down. "Please, think about it," he said. "If you say 'no'…I will understand. I can…honor it."

Rikue could not speak.

"I think he will think about…" Makoto supplied for him, escaping his glance. "But…I feel you are both adults, if she says yes, then it has my blessing."

Rikue was surprised by her.

"Well…I only wanted to ask this the right way—I came here with no expectations."

"Yes…I can see you are being quite honest with me," Rikue said, looking at him. "But…I'll…get back to you on that…See me tomorrow. I…" he shook his head, smiling slowly in confusion. "You did ask it the right way—I…From what Matty tells us…you've worked hard—you have earned my trust that way. You're…definitely your father's son," Rikue watched him smile with control. The man knew the boy—the man was over his aberrant ways, for now. He was settled in one place for the past five years—seeming fully intent on staying there from what Matsuko told him. "…See me tomorrow," he said again.

Coushander nodded. "Thank you…both."

Rikue nodded—he watched Coushander leave.

His wife was smiling.

"Did you know?" he asked grumpily.

"No," she said. "I just think…it was always meant to be."

He made a noise. "Oh fate…Oh destiny…"

"That's exactly what it is," she said firmly. "Perfectly so."

**.**

Coushander walked outside, and before the bridge, he saw someone sitting on top of the short hill to it's left, looking at the dark water below. "…Hi Matty," he said.

She looked up and saw him sit down beside her. "…Hi," she smiled. "So…how'd it go? What did you need to ask him?"

He grinned unabashedly, "…If I…could marry you."

Her mouth slowly dropped open.

He laughed, seeing her stare in surprise.

Matsuko looked as if she would cry any second—a hand covered her mouth—"…Wh…Really…?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Would you marry me?" Tears glazed her eyes. "A poor boy over an oji? Oh, please say yes…"

She sobbed and she laughed. "Oh Kousa…" she cried. "…Yes…!" She cried more and looked at him—"What did my father say?"

He smiled down at the brown water and clouds of brown moss. "He said he'd get back to me," Coushander looked at her. "I'll see him again tomorrow."

"Oh Coushander…" she admired him.

"Yes?"

She couldn't put into words just how happy he'd made her.

…Upon seeing her that way, Rikue had no choice but to agree.

Coushander left a happier man for it—the two were wed the very end of August.

**.**

Matsuko was able to see first hand next springs harvest and fall's sowing, and vice-versa. His routine shocked her. Her letters to home were content and demure, and they were diligently written, as she had to him for so many years. She wrote that he 'works very hard', leaving out the toll she saw it took on him. The fall and spring were always the busiest times. She knew Coushander had been an insanely brave man to work on his own—she knew the work it involved very well. And how he'd lasted this long on his own—she did not know. But she asked him soon, and he told her in part, half will, and half: her letters. Steady, simple doses of someone who believed in him, always, and never judged him.

She was flattered. But the twenty-one letters on his part across five years told her of his struggles, his setbacks—his profit she now knew why he worked so hard for.

She learned his land, his new (old) home, and his ways, and himself. He seemed comfortable now, with himself and the world. He lived like a pauper—recycling stamps wasn't his only bad habit, but she was relieved to know the rest of them were at least_ legal_. But he was sociable (to a certain degree), respectful, and a wholly private man like his father and her own. Coushander talked with her often, on all matters, and was so gentle with her. But for all his talk she loved dearly he did, there still remained only one subject he told her simple and defiantly, "I won't talk about it."

She wondered, often time, what had happened when he became a ninja for Konohamaru—and also what had happened to Saru-Shin. She couldn't stop her mind from theorizing—all she wanted was for her husband to talk about it, but the mention of anything related to the shinobi world by her sent him flying out on the wind with deaf ears and a mute voice. He had to be stubborn about something, she supposed, but the scars had told her something went terribly wrong…on more than occasion. Down his left arm was absolutely horrid—he often kept it under white wraps when he was working in the field for a long period of time. She understood from him only he had not the fine motion control he once had, nor could he lift more than his right, and never ventured into saying how it'd been injured. It left Matty to wonder how he'd ever come out of that village—that lifestyle, _alive_. Saru was always cheerful, especially when he came home; there was nothing that seemed to bother him as shinobi. She wondered what nightmare had changed her Kousa so.

Her question was eventually answered.

She remembered her father slightly disappointed with Coushander for taking the key to his father's old chest. Her mother had told her he'd put his things from Konohamaru in there from when he first came home—they'd seen the two swords. They knew the objects were both his and his brother's.

Matsuko asked him if he still possessed the key. He answered yes, to her surprise, and told her jocosely, he accidentally dropped it in the creek of the ravine. But he turned serious and said in all his honesty, "It's a Pandora's box, Matty, please leave it alone, and don't think of it."

But she thought of it every time she went down to the basement to house their store. Big and brown, the old leather chest reposed on two wooden blocks on the grey floor on the far side—towards the east wall. It creeped her to think of it, but part of Saru and Coushander were still there, she felt, closed in darkness by a silver lock.

She kept an eye out for the key.

Matsuko found it eight months later by pure accident. She was moving numerous pounds of rhubarb into that room—she wasn't paying attention and she tripped her foot on a cardboard box, and bag after bag she and them both tripped onto the door frame of the room. She recovered and picked up the bags—this time taking them one by one—she lifted one bag and saw a small, silver key.

It became obvious to her right then and there.

She stored the bags and held the old key, looking at the large chest. Today wasn't the day. She replaced the key on top of the door frame—she used the box she'd tripped over and actually saw the outline of a key to confirm her suspicion. A thick coat of dust detailed every curve of that key. Matty replaced it perfectly and the box—and then she wondered which night it was that Kousa was going with Kosaka to the regular farmer's meeting inside the village.

Matty waited until the following Thursday.

And then, reading the diary, she understood. It took almost three hours—the same amount of time he was gone.

Kosaka drove him—Coushander was back after nine, as he usually was.

She'd just come up and settled in bed in her yukata, but she was sitting atop the sheets on the floor, thinking. He'd run a little late. "…Hey," he said, smiling. He was usually in a good mood after talking with Kosaka. She was always in a cheerful mood, waiting for him. But the grave expression she wore tonight startled him. She looked up at him dismally, and he knew something was horribly wrong. "Are you…ok?"

Matty felt like leaping up and hugging him so tight, and for so long, she prayed it would take the pain away, but she knew it wouldn't.

"Matty—what's wrong?" Her silence was unnatural—her face void of a smile was incomprehensible. Coushander stared. "Are you…all right? What's happened?"

It was then, she smiled, sadly.

Matsuko did not know really what to say—she didn't know if she could tell him what she'd done. "…I'm fine…" she managed to say.

Her voice was quiet.

"…Well…for…God's sake…What's happened?" He looked her over. "Matty, please—what's going on?"

Her face screwed—she inhaled sharply to keep herself from crying—she faced away. She struggled with the emphatic feeling in her until finally she looked up and into his eyes and felt so sorry for him. He'd seen an eastern island in total with those somber, steel eyes. She cried without sobbing and stood up and went to him and wrapped her arms around him in pure compassion.

He let her hold him and waited, unaware of what was making her this bleak.

"…Kousa," she murmured as she let go. Matsuko wiped her eyes quickly on her sleeve and noticed his left arm was taped up. He usually did it then, before the meetings, so none of the men would see.

"…What?" he exclaimed.

"I'm so sorry," she said, staring at the floor. "But I know."

"Know what?!" he asked, uncomprehending.

She braced herself for his response. "I know…about the land of mist."

He blinked. "What? What's that?"

She looked up, he hadn't understood her. "Water country—Kiri," she repeated. "I know about your mission, Coushander, I opened the chest."

'Chest' and 'opened' registered with him. "…What…?" he said more soberly. "You…what…?"

Matsuko sighed deeply, releasing an awful feeling of pity. Of all she could feel, that was the worst in the world, especially towards someone special. "I'm sorry Coushander, really I am. But I saw the key a week ago, and I wanted to know."

He was silent, taking it in.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "But…Saru was my brother, too—"

"I won't hear it," he turned away.

"Kousa…"

"I will not hear it," he said again, his voice completely flat and without emotion.

Matsuko felt so helpless. "But...It's not…You can't bottle it up, it'll eat you inside—"

"It has already done it's damage," Coushander said severely at the wall. "And you will not talk of this anymore."

He left to shower and change.

They were both silent when he returned.

**.**

She didn't bring the matter up again. Coushander soon got over it within a week. Matty thought about it constantly—every time she saw him and his left arm. She believed he did himself no good repressing the memories so vehemently as he did. She wondered what the other team-members were doing, and that had led her, with the diary's gravity, to imagine Saru had become an exceptional ninja to lead such a team and mission. Matty forever remember Saru, spry and twenty-one years old, the last time he came home—only to take Coushander with him.

He saw the world, out there, beyond the ravine and Midori. He saw fog and rain and mist…and death. And that secured his memory of those years indefinitely. He was so staid now, the memory had been sealed away and caged like some wild animal. Spring's harvest came, and she let it rest. The only blade Coushander held now, was an old scythe…

**.**

Two years later, Coushander and Kosaka were talking out a load, starting from Coushander's home down the front road and onto the main road, heading toward an eventual right turn down at a small town west of his home—north of Nobu. From the right, they'd travel north as they usually did to deliver the bushels. But just before the turning point, they saw down the road two four-man cells of shinobi—scattered in a long row along the right edge of the road as if they were to guard something—or wait for something. Coushander instinctively turn his face from them. But he felt the wagon slow—the horses were stopping…at Kosaka's discretion. Annoyed, he looked at Kosaka, who pointed to Coushander's right.

"…Coushander!" a voice had called from the road—a dark haired, tall man was running up to the loaded wagon.

Coushander recognized him, against his will.

"My God…Coushander!" Morino Dalzen exclaimed.

The Hatake stared. He knew the face—Dalzen's hairstyle had not changed—it only looked different due to the gleaming headband. He also wore a dark and tired shadow about his chin. "Coushander!" He said again—"I knew it was you—How are you?"

The leaf insignia, shining, burned the Hatake's eyes like staring into the afternoon sun. Coushander nodded curtly. He felt as if he were watching a ghost.

Dalzen was caught off guard by his friend's silence. "What…have you…been doing?" It was semi-obvious by the wagon and horses, but Dalzen was intrigued—Coushander still wore his mask.

Coushander stared into the short grass off the side of the road. "…Nothing that concerns you," he muttered. Quickly, he turned his head to his friend; "Drive on," he urged in a low voice.

Coushander looked at Kosaka severely when he hesitated.

Kosaka smiled at the ninja apologetically and flipped the reins.

**.**

"What the hell was that about?"

Coushander was silent.

"Oh I suppose it was 'nothing that concerns me'," he quoted verbatim with an ironic smile.

His friend said nothing else, looking tense and agitated.

**.**

"…Don't tell her."

"Who—oh—why?!" Takato thought. "Why the heck not?"

"Well…I noticed a ring on his left hand, for one."

"He's married?!"

"Either that or he just wears it for the hell of it…" Dalzen looked down at his own band.

"This is too unbelievable—we _have_ to tell her."

Dalzen shook his head. "Then what would happen to her and Rion?"

"Oh she doesn't love him," Takato readily disavowed.

"…How can you be sure of that?"

"Well…I…just…know…" the boy said, looking around. Dalzen stared—"Ok," Takato admitted. "She told me…"

"When was that?"

"Doesn't matter! She—"

"But if he's married, it certainly does her no good—"

"Well I think we—she, at least, deserves to see him," Takato argued. "We're all owed that much. We are."

"Well…like I said…I didn't get the impression he enjoyed seeing me…It was…cold," Dalzen said, it was the only word that came to mind. "I think…he's…made himself a life."

"Well…we all have, that's how it goes," Takato returned. "It's been eight years—it's been way too long. We…We can't wait another eight years for the next brief interlude, we just can't—it's about time."

Dalzen smiled. "I take it you'll be signing up for more assignments south of the village."

"Wouldn't you?"

"I…don't know…" Takato looked at him strangely. "Honestly," Dalzen thought, "I don't…I don't know."

"Wouldn't you want to see him again?"

"Of course…if he wouldn't be so…cold to me—it was like I was the scourge of the earth or something," Dalzen explained. "Sure, I hadn't shaved in a few days, but…I'm not_ that_ dangerous looking…"

Takato smiled wryly.

Dalzen shook his head. "Don't tell her…Not yet…"

**.**

Coushander had always been extremely reluctant to keep a horse, but he did some thinking, and he found it necessary.

They found a three year old colt—a gelding; the color, a dark speckled, smoky grey. It was a thoroughbred with sturdy build; Coushander had seen him and he was reminded of Ezekiel's grey horse, Zoeshen. After harvest and planting, the couple devoted all their time to training him properly. Matsuko had a gift with her old palomino horse where she got to the point she could easily ride bareback. She took that same idea and worked with Zosha to earn his trust and sense to that point. He was an incredibly strong colt, growing to nearly sixteen hands. Coushander smiled—Matty could never quite get up on her own. She used the fence, most of the time.

Seasons passed, the cycle continued. The Hatake didn't need Kosaka's help so much anymore, but the two got together often. Kosaka—with his wife Misao, lived on the eastern side, outside of the Konohamaru. The farmer's meetings continued, as did life and prices and everything else. And nine years later, one more addition was brought to the Hatake household: a son.

He hadn't wanted a family—he hadn't wanted a child, and he feared the toll it would take on their pocket-book was something he wouldn't want to put up. He was especially worried when the doctors knew for sure the baby would be premature—his wife had been an only child for a reason. The baby was born after six months, February 9th…and all of Coushander's doubts took a back seat in an instant when he saw the child—his son, behind glass, barely twelve inches, just barely a couple pounds. From that sweet moment, Coushander prayed the boy would live; for his sake and Matty's.

Their Sakumo survived and grew normal and healthy, in likeness of Coushander, and in gentleness of Matsuko. Their ways were made happier from it—Coushander dedicated himself to working as hard as he could—still worrying his wife constantly in the process. But his entrance into his forties seemed to him, the best times in his life.

But when Sakumo was three years old—there was a small childhood catalyst in his life that affected him forever.

It was the end of the winter harvest, the little boy was watching his father work—repairing one of the old simple machines belonging to his grandfather. Coushander had released Zosha—who wandered to the edge of the field, not far from them, to graze. But Sakumo got up and followed after the big grey horse. And as the small boy wandered through the dry yellow stalks, he heard the horse suddenly neigh loudly in alarm—the horse reared up and turn around, directly in Sakumo's path—the horse didn't see him. Sakumo had no time to escape Zosha's gallop…

…until a Konoha ninja scooped the boy up so incredibly fast, the horse reared late in the spot where the young bog had been. Zosha had been spooked by the team—he side-stepped through the wheat, startled and dazed.

Sakumo, equally confused, looked up at whose arms he was in—it was brown-haired man—a leaf insignia shining on his forehead. The man smiled kindly—time itself seemed to stop as Sakumo saw it. The boy slowly looked around and saw three others in his father's field.

"…What the hell are you doing?!" Coushander shouted while approaching the cell.

The shinobi slowly lowered the boy, who promptly went to his father.

"Sorry," the man said.

"Sorry my…" Coushander seethed under his breath.

"We're tracking a rogue ninja—you haven't seen one around, have you?"

"_No_," Coushander responded quickly and lowly. "Now get the hell off my property!"

"Sorry again, sir—we must do a thorough search."

"Thorough search, my…"

"Once we're done, we will leave."

Coushander's glare abated, slightly. He looked at them, all professional shinobi—little dirt to mar their deep green vests and uniform. "…You wouldn't happen to be chasing an Uchiha, would you?" Coushander wondered in pure curiosity, a mocking tone in his voice.

But the brown-haired man stared in surprise. "…You seen him?" he asked.

Coushander rolled his eyes and sighed, disbelieving his sarcasm had been proven right. "_No_," Coushander said irritated, "_Just—"_

"You sure?"

"Yes! It was a wild guess! Now, do your search, and get the hell out of here! I've had enough of you people, God!" Coushander turned and ushered his little boy. "Come on," he said, trotting the boy in front of him. "Come on, let's go—get back in the house…"

Zosha had retreated to the edge of the field, near the house.

"Sakumo, go in the house."

"But—"

"Go," his father said forcefully. He watched the boy go in. Coushander took Zosha's black cord halter and led him towards the garden to his pasture on the left hand side. The horse had calmed down—Coushander still fumed in his gut with abhorrence. Zosha picked up on the hate in his master and side-stepped uncomfortably. Coushander let him go once inside the gate and stood there in anger. Zosha looked at him strangely, and then walked off.

The ninja soon left his field and himself alone, not without doing their damage to his field and more importantly, his son's conscience. His boy had looked at them as if they were the most magnificent and mysterious thing in the world. The words of ninja and shinobi stuck in his mind like glue, and he never forgot them, or the brave man's kind smile. The boy understood at the same time, it was not his father's favorite subject, but his mother smiled and would listen for any amount of time with patience and the foremost interest.

When the parents decided on a preschool (against Coushander's will) Matsuko suggested the 'Academy'. It was inside the village, and she made Coushander believe it was an ordinary common school (which it was), and she left it at that. Coushander wasn't thrilled to have him attend anything, but Matty was, as her parents had been with her. Coushander, nor his brother, had ever attended anything formal—their parents had home schooled them. But Sakumo was four, and it was only for a half a day. Matsuko saw him there in the early morning, and back in the early afternoon. And after only six months at the Academy school, they pulled him out when it got bad—Matty had gotten sick.

When Sakumo was five years old, his mother died of cancer.

For the first time he could ever remember, his father had not gotten up the next morning as he always did. Instead, he got around before noon and went out to Zosha's pasture—Sakumo was not to go with him. Coushander came back in a calmer mood. He had several things he needed to do. He put on a good robe and Sakumo followed him to all the places they had to go.

By the end of the day, Coushander was completely numb, and both himself and his boy, tired.

Coushander had felt as if he'd been fighting it with her—only to lose, and that loss meant her life. Even though he'd been told—she'd been told it would happen, he couldn't accept it. It reminded him, in a dream that night, of a high cliff and clear river, holding the orange fish flying beneath—black birds still flew in the air, trying to get him to go into the treeline. He woke up in panic and sweat not since the time in the loft of the old man's barn. The dream brought him terror, among fear.

A day later he went back to the hospital in Kujira—one of the nurses they'd known well saw him and told him to wait. She came back with a letter in an envelope signed with his name—in perfect, petite handwriting. "I'm so glad I saw you," she said again. "Your wife wrote this for you," she said gently. "About a week…before she passed. She entrusted it to me."

Sakumo was by his father's side.

"…Thank you," he said numbly.

_A letter._

He got home, and still hadn't the heart to read it.

But late that night, in their room, he sat up dully and tiredly—avoiding the useless sleep he knew would betray him in the end with panic. He could not afford to have that dream again. He got the letter on his shelf of one of the drawers, and he sat back down, reading her swift katakana lines that formed his name. He turned it over and thought…this letter would be one he could not write back to. He tossed the letter down beside him in stress and fatigue and cradled his head, trying to breath and slow his heart. He regained sense of himself and picked it back up. He opened it with shaking fingers and read;

_My dear Coushander, I'm sorry it happens like this—you will be able to go on without me—just please, please do not work yourself to death. Please, I beg you, do not even try. Kosaka can help you, Sakumo will, too, in time. You have my love forever, let the memories be your strength, Coushander, not your weakness. Remember that. I am sure your old shinobi friends miss you. Kousa you have many people around you who care about you greatly; do not give them up or turn them away. I know it'll be so hard, but find strength, you always have, and you always will. I've loved you for that, and all that's made you. You'll be brave for Sakumo, I know, but it's all right to show your feelings; and do give our boy my love. Listen to him—and hear him out with whatever path he wants to chose. Please do that, don't be too hard on him. It breaks my heart to write this; I'm sorry, you and I both have to accept this. You'll be all right. I love you with all I am—I always waited for you, I will now. Yours forever, Matty._

Coushander's throat went dry.

He folded the letter, returned it inside the envelope and stuck it in the wooden drawer.

He got tired of being confined there in the room for the night, so he went outside toward Zosha's field and saw the horse, standing, dozing, in his open wood shed.

The Hatake sat on the fence and watched him…and trembled and cried.

It finally sank in.

And so ended fifteen beautiful years of marriage.

**.**

Sakumo stared at it, behind glass.

He was seven years old—the jackknife was carbon steel, with a white ivory to shell it, a small wolf's head carved on the end. He really didn't have to look anymore, he knew every curve and shadow by heart. He'd grown up seeing it, it was always there, never bought—it was more expensive than the other knives the little store in Kujira carried. He dreamed about having it—cutting hard stalks easily, cutting rope and twigs and twine and tweed. It was even better than any kunai he saw some of the Konohamaru villagers carry—the jackknife folded, it was discreet and slim and powerful, whenever you needed it. He was turning eight, in two weeks, and he prayed a miracle might happen and let it be his.

Sakumo worked hard ever since he was serious about making the blade his. He worked to be responsible and capable, and he felt to his core, he was. He took on anything his father asked him to do diligently and with care to do it right. He tried to be polite and respectful and everything worthy of finally holding that strong, glistening blade in his hands.

His father was the chintziest man…possibly in the entire world.

It embarrassed Sakumo when he saw his father and Kosaka together. The Hatake's good clothes always had at least two patches somewhere sewn into them—groceries were bought sporadically—most of the time his father was cleaning stuffs from the garden and freezing them for that or for selling, and even then, he stored far more than he kept out. All their furniture was sparse and old—and they kept very few nonessentials. All his father kept of real excess was the old grey radio and a couple notebooks on hand to record crop prices and other information. Sakumo had little of his own save his twin bed frame in his closet-sized room, sheets, and clothes. He had a wooden chest of drawers—on the bare shelf top, there was small framed picture of his mother. He also had a small wooden box his father made him where he put several old glass marbles they'd find buried in the dirt sometimes. But Sakumo had another purpose in mind for the box not yet realized. He dreamed, before he'd go to bed, he might store that beautiful blade and carving there.

They weren't poor, but they weren't rich, either. They just were.

But his father came home one afternoon in Kosaka's wagon and showed some trust in Sakumo. He gave him a few dollars and asked him to get a pound of sugar in the Kujira village, in the general store.

Sakumo arrived there—he saw a tall, dark-haired man walking out with a brown bag he clutched to his chest. The boy went in and saw Okuda-san and told him what he needed. While he was getting the item, Sakumo stared at the display case in the counter—he'd tried to resist, but the temptation was far too great. He looked down at the end, past all the other knives—and he saw his jackknife was gone.

"There you are, Sakumo."

The boy gave him the money, and Okuda-san gave him change.

"It's gone, Sakumo," Okuda smiled.

Sakumo's frown was real. He felt a sense of shock and loss. "…Do you know…who got it…?" Maybe it was some other boy—with a richer and more careless father.

"Actually, he just walked out here a minute ago."

Sakumo looked up in surprise—he thought of the rather gruff man he'd seen walking out, "You mean…?"

Okuda nodded, trying to empathize.

"Oh…" Sakumo uttered, broken-hearted.

"Better get on home."

Sakumo pushed a smile as he took the sugar. "Yeah…thanks…"

**.**

The young boy woke up without expectations—only a deeps sense of disappointment and loss. He'd done everything he could, and still. Even if his father had planned on buying it, it was long gone know in another man's arms. Sakumo finally settled himself to live life without it, and settled for a sweet and strong scent coming from the kitchen.

"Oi, ohayo—Why do you look so sad today?" His father was already up, as usual.

Sakumo saw him making breakfast. The eight year old tired to cheer himself up. He shrugged and gave a noncommittal noise.

"Well if you're that depressed, you don't _have_ to open anything," his father teased him. "I don't feel like opening anything on my birthday…I've opened enough chapters in my life without asking for more—I hate birthdays," he said. "You get older. Big whoop. Getting older is awful…arthritis…inexplicable aches…loss of stamina…loss of…" Coushander stopped himself there and gave his son a plate. "Anyway, I'm just saying," he smiled.

"Yeah…I guess…I don't like them, either," his boy half-smiled.

"Oh Sakumo…" his father said disapprovingly.

Sakumo lowered his fork. "…What?"

"You're too easily swayed."

His father turned around and produced a small box on the counter Sakumo hadn't noticed. He put it before his son and smiled and sat there across the small table. "Go ahead, open it—All sales are final."

His son smiled sheepishly.

Sakumo moved his plate and took the box—he could smell it: it was made of pure cedar. He opened it and found a black velvet box that fit within it perfectly. Carefully, he wiggled it out and held it. Sakumo flipped it open—

a white ivory wolf looked up at him, intense and wild.

Sakumo stared at it with a brand new expression—he gaped and he could speak. There was the jackknife, inches away from his face—his hands. "Oh…dad!" Sakumo set it down and hugged his father. "Thank you! I thought…! I thought he took it!" Sakumo picked it up again as if to convince himself it was really there. "I thought…Okuda-san said…"

Coushander grinned. "Well, I confess, Sakumo…Okuda and I played a little trick on you."

"You…You mean…?"

"I bought it a week ago. When you went to his shop, you saw it gone—I asked Okuda if he could play you a little and tell you it'd been taken."

"Then…it hadn't…ever…_you_ had it…!"

Coushander shook his head: "It's not mine, Sakumo," he smiled. "It's yours."

Sakumo grinned. Box in hand, he hugged his father again. "Thank you!" he said, tears in his eyes, "Thank you so much!"

Sakumo released and Coushander looked him over. "You have one more gift, my dear Sakumotsu," he stood up, and he bent down and kissed the boy's forehead. "That is from your mother."

Sakumo flushed, smiling. His father went back to the stove and moved the skillet into the sink. "And if she knew what I just gave you," he said. "She'd tell you fifty times to be careful with it, take care of it, and not to run with it, or use it as a lever, or a nail file—and I'm sure there are many other things it's should not be used for…" he mused.

"I promise—oh I promise I'll take care of it," Sakumo beamed. "I promise. Thank you…" he said again, "Thank you so much!"

"All right, all right—finish your breakfast, and then can come out and help me."

"Yes, sir!"

**.**

_Listen to him—and hear him out with whatever path he wants to chose. Please do that, don't be too hard on him…_

Sakumo had his mother's gentleness and intuition. The boy, so cunning, knew exactly when and how to bring up the subject of…'shinobi'.

The boy through the years, continued expressing interest in the subject, and continually, Coushander had to raise his voice higher and higher to end it. But the cessation of talk only seemed to increase the boy's longing and fascination with the ninja village. Sakumo could not understand his father's hatred when Kosaka, nor anyone else he met, seemed to mind. Coushander did not even think of telling him why. But predictably, give the boy a knife, he thinks he's on top of the world. But Sakumo handled the subject with care, and he was still so innocent and humble—he only wanted the chance to explore it. His talk had increased slowly, recently, and all Coushander wished him to do was be quiet, and help him with harvest and sowing. Zosha was old now, and though the gelding still expressed the will, Coushander knew he could no longer pull a wagon, let alone anything else. Hence, he asked Kosaka sporadically, giving him recompense like he did over twenty years ago.

Coushander abhorred his son's crazy fascination, and the boy's growing curiosity of the root of that abhorrence.

One night in April, Sakumo misjudged his father's mood, and Coushander erupted at him, horribly. His father told him to pack his clothes, he could leave in the morning. Sakumo fearfully did as he was told, unsure if his father was serious or not. He sweat in his bed that night his father would be calmer in the morning. Sakumo regretted horrendously at what he'd done—he prayed his father had as well.

But Coushander knocked early on his door the next morning. "You ready?" he barked.

Sakumo trembled. Shaking, he held the bag and walked into the small loving room and saw his father looking at one of his notebooks on the table. "You ready?"

"…Dad, I'm sor—"

His father looked at him critically. "Where's your mask?"

Sakumo felt another wave of panic in him. He found his collar and pulled it up. "Otoussan, I—"

"A shinobi…does not show fear," Coushander said. "Come with me."

Sakumo still didn't know what his father had in mind. Nervously, he followed. He didn't know if his father were teaching him a lesson, or still incredibly angry, or both—or, giving him what he wanted…in the worst way imaginable. Sakumo didn't want to make it any worse, so kept his mouth closed behind indigo fabric.

The two entered into the village and Coushander told Sakumo to wait at the mission's office—it'd changed since he'd been around to that part of town. He went in the front of the building, and went out the back, leaving Sakumo, cruelly waiting.

In the Hatake's mind, as he walked back home, he'd given Sakumo a choice.

Fully scared, after an hour, Sakumo returned to the bench and broke down and cried. He had the fabric still pulled up. No one noticed. Sakumo hugged his knees, and he did not know what to do. His father was no where around. It wasn't until late afternoon did someone take notice of him. It was an upper-class shinobi, the boy could feel it emanating from the man's very tall and large presence.

"My God…boy.." he said, looking the eight-year old over.

Sakumo had his head down in shame, afraid the man had seen him cry.

Seeing as the young boy wasn't willing to look up, Dalzen knelt down to look at his face—half of it covered. Dalzen could not believe it, and yet…there he was. "My God…Boy…what is your name…?"

"…Hatake…Sakumo…" he said very quietly.

A loose grinned cracked his face. "Well my…God…" Dalzen said again. "What are you doing here…Hatake…Sakumo…?"

The boy started to cry again.—he tried choking it down. "I…don't know…"

Dalzen stared. "Do…do your parents know you're here?"

Sakumo didn't know how to answer.

"What's wrong?"

Sakumo's eyes squinted at the pavement. "I…" he sniffed. "I don't know. I don't know…"

"Can…you tell me what happened…?"

"I…" Sakumo shook his head. "I made my father…angry—I didn't mean to. I didn't mean too—I didn't know he'd…" Sakumo hesitated. "I didn't mean to make him angry…I don't know where he is. I…didn't know he'd…He was so angry, I didn't mean it; I don't know why he hates…"

"Your father…hates ninja?" Dalzen took a wild guess.

Sakumo was surprised—he looked up at the man's tough face and nodded. "What…What do I do?"

"Well…is he at home…?"

"I don't know where he went—" Sakumo looked down at his bag. "I think…I…" he swallowed, fighting fresh tears—he shook his head.

"Why did you…get your father angry?" Dalzen asked him gently.

"Because…I…wanted to go back to the Academy…I thought I could earn money this way, and I…always wanted…to be…one of you…I just didn't think…" Sakumo quickly wiped his eyes. "…It'd happen like this. He…" the boy didn't know how to finish the thought.

"Well…do you want to be…shinobi?"

Sakumo nodded slowly.

That was the choice.

Dalzen considered the situation. "And your father…he…left you here."

Sakumo nodded again.

_Coushander…_Dalzen thought slowly. _You bastard._

The eight year old took the king's shilling, and studied, and learned very quickly.

Dalzen, henceforth, devoted himself to be a sensei to that boy, a role he'd never taken until that day.

Zosha, twenty years old, passed away two days after Sakumo left.

Coushander did not think it could get any worse…

**.**


	21. My Love Will Not Change

(Quick note: This was a hard chapter for me to write…on everybody's part. Tahle, I don't think I wrote this much conversation since Script…)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 21  
_**My Love Will Not Change**_

**.**

**.**

They were in a meeting of the 'Konohagakure'-area farmer's ass., which, by now, was the most incredibly boring thing in the world. So forty-eight year old Coushander was peacefully napping that night in early September—partially out of boredom, and partially exhausted from working his land. He suddenly felt a jab on his left arm, and it woke him, harshly. The two were in the back, as usual—Coushander glared at him. Kosaka met his irk and in a low voice, said, "Pay attention—I won't keep doing this."

"Well good," Coushander whispered back. "I'll finally get some sleep."

Kosaka rolled his eyes.

"Well it's become less informative than what Terenin does on the radio. Honestly."

"But here you can enter in contests—You don't want to miss that, don't forget, I won quite a bit of money a few years ago."

"…What was that for again?" Coushander privately smirked, "Most under-rated of the year? Oh how I long to win that prize."

Kosaka jabbed his arm again, but his friend unexpectedly stood up and said, in all seriousness when he suddenly got the speaker's and the men's attention…: "I just want to say…thank you…for the award. It means so much to me. Thank you."

Coushander sat down behind four rows of dumb-founded faces and smiled to himself, contentedly.

Kosaka hid his face with both hands.

Coushander continued to smile.

The speaker looked weary. "Uh…ok then, so, back to it; who votes 'yes'?"

No doubt, Coushander was the first one to raise his right hand.

They asked him for his membership card before they left; Coushander presented it with some fanfare, "I show it to everyone one the street!" And it was a wonder they let him go.

"…Do you purposely wish to embarrass me?!" Kosaka burst out as they walked outside.

"If I embarrass anyone, it's myself. Why ever would you think that, dear Kosaka…?" he was still smiling.

"Oh, gee…You either speak in riddles or sarcasm. Are you ever humble? No—No, _sane_…that's what I seek. Sanity. Just some sanity, that's all."

"Goodnight, Kosaka…"

"Yes, yes! Never answer any of Kosaka's questions! You know, Coushander…" he stopped him. "You should get some help…it's been, what…a year since your boy left…? Four since…Matty died? If I can say this," he was gently serious. "Your wife always kept your feet on the ground. Maybe…you should at least try socializing…preferably with a woman. That's what I think."

"…You'd, recommend that?"

"Sure would."

"Or did Misao tell you to say that."

"Sure di—" Kosaka blinked. "Oh...! It doesn't matter who thought of it—it's true. It's what we both think."

"Well…I'd have to sleep on it…and I don't like that much anymore…but my first instinct is no. Goodnight."

"…Wait—you walking home?"

"Yes, Kosaka…"

"Oh—well, take care," he called; "Consider it!"

So Coushander left down town. He loathed every part of the village equally, this was no different. But as he walked down the streets, he heard his name called—at first, he thought it might have been Kosaka, but he turned 'round and all he was a woman running up to him. His first impression, a pretty, dark-haired woman.

"Coushander! My God! I thought it was you!"

Then, closer, he saw she was older—her face refined and with definition. Her figure defined—remarkably, she stood shoulder to shoulder with him. His neck was craned so, she almost seemed an inch taller. The last thing he recognized was her voice. It was womanly and deep, and matched her stature. Still, her hair was a raven black, and her eyes intense and familiar—it was Kano Hoseki, aged twenty-six years since he last saw her at seventeen.

"…Kano…Hoseki…?" he clarified.

"Hello," she smiled broadly. "I wasn't sure it was really you! How have you been?"

"Oh—uh," he stammered. "Fine, fine…" He was trying not to stare, but she stood with him perfectly in height; a tall and slender figure—indigo clothes and a simple black vest—she was still young in her forties, but did not show it as him and his late forties. He remembered to be polite—she was a woman, after all. "A—And you…?"

"Oh fine," she returned, she too, was still taking him and his low voice in. "So…why are you out so late…What're you doing in the village…?" she smiled.

"Oh—meeting…" he pointed incoherently. "Farmer's meeting," he clarified, in the slightest. "A—And you…?"

"Oh, a late night birth at the hospital…I'm glad it's over. No more talk of pregnancy; at least for a while…It was driving me absolutely insane. I came out here to walk," she confided.

"Oh…well…are you…on your way home…?"

"…I am."

"Oh. Then…" he convinced himself it would be out of pure civility. "May I…walk you home?"

"…Thank you—yes!" she colored. "I'd like that."

He gestured her to lead the way.

"So…really…" she said as she aimed them down the road, west of the mountain faces—"How have you been…?" Kano let Coushander be on her right—she looked down his left arm quickly and casually—a band around his finger, but what concerned her more was that his hand and fingers and wrist were all covered by white tape. His light blue kimono sleeve was long enough for her not to know how far up it extended. His gait seemed slow to her—and smiling, she wasn't in a rush to get home.

"Well…'been sowing, harvest, canning…there's always quite a lot to do this time of year," What was the harm in answering a few questions…? Just so long as she veered clear of anything less than mundane…

"Oh…what do you grow…?"

"Many things—in addition to my wheat. I'll be putting in winter wheat soon. New crop's up."

"Oh…" she smiled. "And…you're still married?"

He hesitated. "…No…I'm…a widow," he smiled faintly to hisself.

"Oh…! I'm so sorry…!"

"No, it's all right. Been four years…going to be five…it's been a while…She…died of cancer."

"Oh…" she frowned. "I'm so sorry. That's…that's hard, I know. I'm so sorry."

"It's ok," he said, quietly. "It was hard…but…" He shook his head. Life had seemed to move on without her, though he carried her memory with him, wherever he went, even now, he thought of her smile.

Kano regarded him differently. His sadness was evident, and for all his hard work, he looked weathered…and he looked lonely. "Well…I…I've heard of… your son—I've seen him, in passing," she said carefully and gently, "He looks just like you."

He said nothing.

"Is…Is he ten, yet?"

"No…No, he's nine."

"I don't mean to pry," she apologized. "I just know what I do from Dalzen."

"…Do you…" he murmured distantly at the name. "You…see him…?"

She nodded. "Every now and then—He's become a great sensei—he's teaching your boy. I believe…taking him under his wing was his idea," she said with a smile.

"Mm…" Coushander muttered. He didn't want to understand her words.

"From what I know…" she said, thinking of his young boy, "He's a very bright and talented student," she said, watching his father's eyes from the corner of hers. "It's a curious thing…he stays in that place…kind of close to the hospital…?"

Coushander said nothing.

"I'm sorry," she said again, smiling teasingly, "Am I making you nervous or something…?"

"…What…?" he genuinely hadn't heard.

"Do you have a curfew? Or do I make you nervous?"

"…Of course not.

"Well, then."

"Well, what?"

She shook her head, "I haven't seen you in years!"

"What, shall I give you a brief summary, or would you like the whole thing?"

"…The whole thing, by far," she said.

Her statement was sincere. He cringed. "…Are we almost there? Or are you leading me to a recruitment center?"

They'd entered a road off the Academy that was dirt and lined on either side with trees.

"No, no; I live down this way, it's not much further."

"…Good."

He was tense and impatient. She wasn't exactly going to harm him now with shinobi talk. He shook his head and released a pent sigh from his chest. "So…" he asked without concern, "What do you do?"

She smiled, and looked away. "…You want the whole thing, or condensed?"

"Preferably condensed," he said.

"Well…I went to work in a med station—the first one," she said fondly. "Then I went on a few missions, worked more in the med station, and then I transferred to the hospital here for a while…went back to the med station…and now…I'm at the hospital for good. The pay's cheaper, but there aren't half so many things going on. It's calmer, by far. And I feel like it's…where I need to be."

"…Oh."

She grinned. "I spent a lot of years in that med-station. So much chaos—and of course you never know who's going to drop in. I think…I was built for it though—I liked it. But, I'm older now; things have changed."

"Mm…they do," he agreed. Just listening to the tone of her voice let him know that. His boy, gone, let him know that, continually…"So…" he wondered, "You…have kids?"

"Oh—no, no…I…never married."

"You…" He looked at her strangely, and then caught himself from staring. "Oh…I'm…sorry, I just assumed…"

"It's all right," she smiled. "I just…never found the right person."

"…Oh…"

Keiko looked around at the row of trees, and they turned down one more road. "Oh," she said. "But Dalzen and Takato both married…it's funny, Takato has a girl—sort of close to Sakumo's age, older…When she was born, he said he took one look at her, and knew she was a 'Keiko'."

The comments were too much for him to grasp—"…Oh," he mumbled apathetically.

"She's…" Kano tried to think. "Almost a teen, now, twelve—and then Dalzen and Hina—Chinatsu, they had a girl, and then a boy," she smiled. "It's so funny how that goes…Anyway, this is it…"

Her house was on the left of the road, small and grey-brown; a small garden in front—only flowers. Her home was in front of a forest, and on the right edge of the road was a line of trees, guarding a wide field of grass. He walked her to the door, and admired the woodwork.

"Thanks for seeing me home."

"…Oh—yeah, you're welcome."

She knew it was a stretch. "…Would you...like to come in?"

"Oh—hell no," he said without thinking. "…Sorry," he corrected politely. "No, thank you."

"Coushander…I'd really love to see you again."

"Oh…" he groaned. "No, you wouldn't—please don't do this to me."

"Why not?" she smiled. "Please say yes."

She was forty three years old, her hair black, her voice changed. He didn't know what to say. She wasn't the same teen he'd known, but she was still shinobi. Pretty as she was, and kind and sensible…she was still, one of them.

"…You know where I live…" she settled. "You're welcome any time. I go in at seven, I get out…at about three or four…Think about it. I've…really missed you, Coushander, and I've thought about you…so many times…I'd love to catch up. I've missed you."

"Well…we'll…see…" he said quietly.

He left her home and thought and wondered.

**.**

September was busy, but two weeks into it, one Friday evening, he went back into the village and retraced their steps.

Kano was thrilled he did so—she hadn't felt happier in years. "Kousa!"

He winced and wanted to turn straight back around for fear the others were in there too with their 'kunai' and headbands…"Coushander, you came!"

"Am I interrupting something…?" He prayed he was.

"No! Not at all…!"

He despaired.

She led him inside.

"How are you?"

"Great—tired, but fine."

She smiled and led him into her kitchen.

He saw an empty pan on the counter and a recipe book; "Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No, no…I was just going through that for something to do…"

He came closer out of curiosity, and noticed one of the cards called for rhubarb.

"I've got fifty pounds of rhubarb in a freezer in my basement—need some?"

"Fi…fty…pounds…?" She grinned. "You do not."

He smiled, furtively, for the first time. "Want to bet?"

She remembered that tone from him—Kousa always made light in water country, in the land of mist and fog. She used to admire that about him. "…Fifty pounds…?"

"All in convenient four-cup bags." He took a seat on the stool and glanced at the book. "I'm afraid I don't have a chef's touch. Things…got collected after Matty died—my wife. Now I just sell all the stuff raw, and the shit still backs up on me. I've got another fifty pounds standing where it grows. That stuff is insane, I swear…maybe it's just my land, I've no idea."

"Well…what do you cook with rhubarb?"

Rhubarb pie, rhubarb…" he smirked. "Um, anything," he shrugged simply. "I just could never make anything the way she used to," he briefly laughed again. "Kosaka says I 'sympathy sell'…"

"…Kosaka?"

"A friend. I go with him to the meetings. I suppose…I've known him a long time now."

"I guess you know a lot of different people—doing what you do."

He shrugged. "Not really."

She smiled. "So…what brought you around here, really?"

The woman needed to know his motives. It seemed like woman always needed to _know_ everything. It perturbed him because he himself did not know the reason. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Well…I…don't know, really."

His answer wasn't good—it only fueled her with speculation. Kano looked at him—lighter eyes than she remember, as if they'd been bleached by the sun along with his hair. It seemed lighter too, longer, unkempt, tied back in a short ponytail. She was looking at a shinobi turned farmer…save one article of clothing—the mask. It was still there. It was an odd sight—she still recognized him, but his duty was in another place—a larger piece of land with an empty home. Keiko held, above all, he looked lonely. She identified with the response, but not with the man. "…We haven't seen each other in twenty-six years," she said quietly, thinking about her and Dalzen and Takato, getting together for their twenty-fifth.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me…"

"Well…at the least…it's an awful long respite to continue as friends."

He looked up at her strangely. _Friends?_ Did he even consider her still a friend? The temptation to bark a refusal was great, but he wasn't in the mood to argue with a more properly named, in his mind, 'acquaintance'. A distant one, at that. He shook his head in confusion, "Well…whatever…Isn't that…funny."

She sensed the terseness in his voice. "It is funny. It is funny you come back now, of all times."

_Come back now? Of all times?_ Now she was putting words in his mouth. "Why—what's going on now?"

"…Well, not much with me…but there is a war out there."

He looked at her. "You mean…the crap that's going on in rice country? You call that a war?"

"Well, Konohamaru's involved. It's an engagement by our standards."

"You're right…" he spoke to the shinobi in her, "Farmers are getting killed out there," he said. "It's been raising my prices…"

"How do you know about rice country…?"

"Oh God, I hear it on the radio, all the time with the update on the prices—God, it drives me nuts."

"…How so…?" she smiled awkwardly, wondering his opinion.

He was not patient anymore. He stood. "Well…insanity is apparently a commodity of those people. If those people chose to sell to who they did, they deserve what they get—"

"Coushander…!"

"No, I'm damn serious. I don't care if they were pressured, coerced, or…just plain stupid. Let the stupid ones go. Let the martyrs die—don't damn give in to vain conceited people. It's never worth it…as they found out."

He had a point. "But still…" the shinobi in her responded. "Do you not think those people—those families deserve protecting?"

"Oh screw them…" he waved. "Let them go with, or without principle to save them."

His left arm fell, and she noticed his silver wedding band was not there.

"So…" she said slowly, "If a daimyo who worked with enemy ninja asked you to sell to him for a good price…you'd say 'no'?"

"Not only that, but I'd curse at him behind his back, because he's no different than those in rice country whom he bought from."

"…How's that?"

"Whether by choice or not…they both support imperialism."

She was bewildered by her old friend's conviction on the matter. "And…how…do you know so much about this…?"

"I listen to the radio," he said again. "Damn fine morning team," he nodded.

She grinned—for some reason, what he said was exactly thing she might have expected Kousa to say.

He left, then, and felt easier if he should ever decide to see her again. He could hold his own.

**.**

_Kano, the fields are keeping me busy—I'll come back again. Didn't want you to wonder. I promise I'll bring some rhubarb next time—no charge._

_Coushander_

**.**

The first week in November, on a Thursday, he went over in the evening, but she wasn't home. So, he dropped off the plastic bag and left.

She walked home from her own grocery shopping, and saw the bags of rhubarb within the plastic—four of them. On top of one of the bags, she saw a recipe card in his handwriting—rhubarb pie—'_you can freeze them'_, he wrote. She turned the card over idly and saw something else was written on the back…a number, and address; _Woodland Lane. Come in the evening—before eight._

Kano came Friday evening—and was surprised.

"…It's…beautiful…"

He'd seen her come round the side of the house—he closed the red notebook and turned off the old grey radio.

"Sorry…" she came up the steps, "Did I interrupt?"

"No—I don't care for sports. I was just about to turn it off."

She smiled, "May I?"

"Please," he let her sit, and he clicked off the dial on the radio.

"It really is…beautiful," she said again.

He grinned to himself. "Then it has deceived you."

She looked at him strangely.

"The stuff in front—what you see here, always grows crooked."

"…Looks straight to me."

"No, I mean how it grows…" he couldn't put it into words. He shook his head. "It…grows…slow," he said simply, thinking of the old man and his scythe.

She smiled, "Thanks for the rhubarb."

"Got another fifty pounds down there…you're welcome to it."

"I think you gave me plenty—I'll try that recipe. I was out getting a few things from the store, believe it or not," She took in the sights of his land. "…You've really got quite a place here."

"…Been my hard work, for over twenty years."

"…You've been here for that long…?"

"Yeah…Found this place in my twenties…Married Matty."

"Did…can I ask—Did your wife know about you?"

He glanced at her.

"I mean, as—"

"Yes, I think I know what you mean—the answer is yes," he said coolly. "We…Well I knew her since we were both kids—we grew up as next door neighbors, I knew her all my life."

"…Oh…" she understood. Kano looked back over the field and thought. They hadn't know much about him personally—they never had a chance to. She knew about him though, from what he'd tell her about Saru, and what Saru would tell her. She could still remember the story about jinxing a scythe and things like that, but she hadn't really known how much Coushander had taken the path he'd once been on—and that was toward a simpler, and far quieter life than hers. He succeeded. The trio never saw him again—until Dalzen had seen him years ago near Nobu. Takato had told her.

"Well…" she thought. "We've missed you. We thought…you'd come back."

"…Nope," he sounded—the conversation was becoming extremely uncomfortable.

"Well…" she mused. "…Did you ever think about us?"

_Nope—I tried not to._ He turned his head and rolled his eyes. _Only during moments of weakness,_ he added to himself. "…No," it came out. "Not really."

There was a long and awkward silence.

"I made my life, Kano," he said after a while. "Here it is, and here it stands. It took me blood and sweat…and yeah, a few tears, but I've finally got something. I make a little profit, I have a little money in the bank, and that's it. I'm…happy here. Not so much without Matty…but you get the idea. I suppose…I'll rest on my sheaves, when it's all over…it's a dream I have. But, it's a simple life…and I've wanted nothing more."

Kano had seen the wheat, the trees, the trench, the house, and still, the pasture on the left looked empty, the house was bare, and his voice was changed with an empty stare. She didn't know what to say. He was rural and quiet, by his own two hands.

_…There was nothing left for me to do for Kiri, for Konoha, or for anyone…_

His loud, tortured voice still rang those words in her mind, from time to time. His voice could always reach beyond a door, a wall, or any distance to her sentimental heart.

It was the same as it was now.

"…Well…Coushander…Can I still see you again, some time?"

He looked at her—her face still pretty, her hair, still black. "Yeah…" he said slowly. "That's…fine."

She colored. "Thank you."

She hadn't been happier in years.

**.**

Their next meeting was as civil and rural as the first two—they talked nothing of Dalzen, Takato, or other ninja—Coushander excelled at current events for a private man—his new conviction continued to intrigue her; it was about the only thing that lightened his hazy eyes.

She learned a horse of his had died—almost a year ago; the only horse he'd kept in all the time he was there. It passed two days after his boy had left. Kano learned too, he and his wife had been married for fifteen years.

But one night in January, their 'acquaintance' (as he still maintained in his mind), changed.

She started reverting, predictably, from the present tense to talk about the past. The change made him tense instantly. He'd started to appreciate talking to someone other than dull Kosaka. He feared where she was going—he'd been about to go home; they stood in her den; "…Dalzen's changed," she said. "He likes his job as sensei—he never thought he'd do it until he met your son. They try to get him into the interrogation ward full-time though, but he's always wanted active duty, he likes it far better. Takato, too, is that way; they used to go on a lot of missions together, after we all got back. It's funny, it's been so long, now."

He felt hot, anticipating her words.

"…We've all changed so much, thanks to your—"

He was looking aside—he pulled down his mask—

He kissed her.

Really, Kano…saying 'brother' is uncalled for…

After that and their awkward silence, Coushander very much had to leave.

**.**

She wondered why. She took her time wondering why, ever since the feeling fade from her lips. She didn't know what in the world had made him do that—perhaps, she failed to see really just how lonely he _was._

Kano looked at him differently, the next time they met. She didn't think it beyond him to maybe share her old feelings. And she wondered, smally, if he really cared about her in that way.

Coushander was reluctant to look at her. He didn't exactly want to see her any more, but damn him straight to hell, he'd been stupid enough to give her his address. He couldn't exactly pack up and move, he had work to do…which was the humble excuse he gave her pretty face.

But that was it, he thought. She had a pretty face and after the damn woman had seen his, he knew she wouldn't give up on him now. Kano would chase him to the ends of the earth…or at least to rice country, and he did not know the first thing about growing things of that nature.

This game continued between them, of misunderstanding and confusion.

And it concluded one evening in March.

He stayed the night.

**.**

He went home promptly the next morning to beat himself over what he'd done.

Eight weeks later, she told him.

And for someone who assured him she worked in a hospital, and had access to certain medication, it came as quite a bit of a shock.

"…What…?" There was a silence as he asked again, louder; "…What?!"

"I'm very sorry, Kousa…I did lie…to you, I'm sorry."

He got up off the porch swing and stood completely aghast. "…Are you…mad?!"

"No," she said calmly. "I thought about it long and hard—and I decided if there was a child, I'd…"

"'I'd' what?! God…!" He threw his right hand. "…Are you serious?!"

"Yes, I'm serious…and I'm well aware of my risks, but still, I…"

"The hell you do! I can't believe this! God _damn!"_

"Kousa—"

"Don't you _dare_ call me that."

She blinked in confusion. She stood.

He stared at her, their eyes level. "Don't you _dare_ call me that anymore."

"…Why…?"

"Dammit," he cursed aloud. "Why the hell…is all this happening…"

"Kousa—please—"

"Please what?!" he shouted. "Why did you do this—Why did you lie to me?"

"…I don't know," she confessed. "But it's happened. I'm sorry I lied, but I wanted to see…Believe it or not, I never married or slept with anyone because I still loved you, " she said shakily. "And you had something to do with this. My love has never changed—please say you'll…Please—accept this, and—"

"…Fine," He said angrily. "But I can save you the trouble: it's six—it's nine months of grief." He turned to go in the door, but she stopped him by taking his left hand.

"I know you're upset with me, but I also know you have the dignity in you not to walk away from this. I thought…" _you loved me,_ she thought desolately.

"You know…" he suddenly remembered. "This is God awful strange. I had this same conversation…with my wife."

She let go. "…How'd it end?"

"It ended…with a healthy baby boy."

He went inside, and shut the door on her.

**.**

Thursday, May twenty-nine—his birthday, there was a meeting.

Coushander arrived by himself, and after the meeting, Kosaka pounced on him: "Coushander! _Where_ have you been?!"

"…Oh…don't tell me you _missed_ me…" he said bleakly.

They were standing underneath an old and tall maple by the meeting house, perfect for clandestine and secret acts of spying.

"Coushander…! Oh don't tell me you lost sleep over your _woman_."

Coushander winced. "I'd appreciate it if you looked up the meaning of 'discreet', Kosaka. I don't want anybody else to know."

"Oh, well…when I say your 'woman', I'll just tell them I mean your 'wheat field'."

"Very clever. Now, please let me see the numbers," he nodded at the ones in his left hand, in the manila folder.

"No. You're hiding something, I know it."

"Oh…" Coushander rolled his eyes.

"No, no, tell me about it, then you can see the numbers."

Coushander sighed heavily. "Give me them, please, then I'll tell you. Upon my honor," …_however much I have left,_ he thought.

Kosaka cocked his head. "…Fine," he conceded.

Coushander took them and instantly scanned the contents.

His friend began tapping his foot impatiently.

"Well…" the Hatake thought, "Women…are very troublesome."

Kosaka stared. "…That's it?" he asked. "I already _knew_ that—Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"All right then," Coushander flipped over the page. "I'm worse with them than you are."

Kosaka guffawed. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "You've outdone me then…I must hear this…What happened? What'd you do?"

"For fear you'll spill my secrets…" Coushander said dejectedly, "I must decline further comment…"

"Fah! Oh come now. Of all people…Well, actually, I am your only people. Come now, out with it. I've known you for far too long. You may tell me anything without fear of divulgence—upon _my_ honor."

The Hatake cocked his brow, briefly, and glumly, he sighed. He stared of into the distance with a horrid, terrible feeling in his chest. He coughed. "I'll…tell you…in…nine months…"

Kosaka blinked as he thought of the words: _nine months_. He suddenly gasped. "…Nine…months…?" Kosaka covered his mouth and spoke confidentially: "Dear God—nine months? What the _hell_ did you _do?!"_

"…Exactly what you think I did…" he muttered self-deprecatingly. Coushander did not appreciate his friend's grin. Coushander felt absolutely without hope, or honor.

"…Nine months, eh? Well, aren't you a lucky bastard."

_"Hey,"_ Coushander said severely, "I didn't _know_ she'd do that," he said harshly. "The..." He stopped himself and closed and handed back the manila folder. "I'm not fucking proud of it, by any means," He rubbed a hand to his collar, something irritated him physically in his chest.

"Well…I told you to start socializing, not…"

"I know," Coushander muttered. "I know…If I could take it back, I would. God…I am a damn bastard."

"Well…" Kosaka accepted his somber tone and returned it. 'Women never tell you when they're broody…"

"No—it wasn't like that," _What was wrong with his chest?_ "It was…It wasn't like that," he shook his head. "She was…I was…She was so sentimental, and I just…" He looked down. "I knew her…believe it or not…" he admitted. "A long time ago."

"…Oh..." Kosaka realized. "She was…"

Coushander flashed him a glance not to say the word.

"No, I mean…she was 'an old flame'…?"

Coushander stared. "Not even that…she…was…just a friend," He shook his head. "Dammit, I don't know…I have to go."

"…Well…good luck, Coushander…it'll…work itself out."

"…Yeah…maybe…Thanks."

"Misao and I are just a…well, on the other side of the village."

"Yeah…" _And so am I,_ he thought.

**.**

He began to pay attention to the pain invading his chest—it did not subside. And what bothered him the most, was that the normal drugs he bought did not seem to mute it. The pain was dull, still—a feeling; a bad one, one that he knew should not be there. He only really started to worry about it come the winter wheat's harvest—a tight feeling hugged his chest as he worked his father's old machines and the old man's scythe. He did end up resting on he sheaves for a few minutes, wondering what the hell the invader was. Kano didn't relent on him either—he grew irritable and restless with both the work, and her.

"…Coushander."

"…Oh God," he muttered. He closed the red notebook.

"We need to talk—"

"No, we don't," he said. The beginning of June did not wish to treat him well. He got up and let the notebook fall on the seat.

"Listen to me—"

"No, I don't, Kano, leave me be."

"It's _Keiko_. Everybody still calls me Keiko—"

"I don't give a damn _what_ they call you—"

"Saru called me—"

"You…" he turned to her with hot anger in his eyes, "…_Never_ say that name," he seethed harshly.

Kano suddenly blinked. "…What…?"

He raised a hand, "Don't you dare say it."

"You…mean…S—"

"I am warning you," he said lowly. "Do not mess with me."

She was stunned. "…What…saying…your brother's name is…'messing with you'…?!"

He grew hot and tensed, but he turned away and tried desperately to block her out.

"…What…in the world…" she stammered in shock, "Is...wrong…with you?!"

He bit his tongue. The anger even muted the oppression he felt in his chest to a low hum.

Never had she seen him so virulent and uncouth, not since he left. "…What the hell is this about? What's wrong with you?"

He spent another moment in malicious thought. He headed for the door—she took his left arm—it was just strong enough to release from her grip. "…Get off my property."

She stared:

"…What…?"

"You heard me."

"…Why…are you so…curt with me?" she demanded. "Don't I matter—"

"Because I am not one of you," the words hurt his chest to say them as loud and strong as he did. "I am not one of you. I am not in your world anymore, you speak none of it."

"…What…just because I mention…I haven't said anything…!"

"Oh shut up—you talk about them…your world…and now this," he glanced at her waist.

"Kousa—"

"Do not call me that!"

Her face scrunched—"…Why the hell not?!"

For fear of explosion, he walked down the porch steps.

"…Coushander…!"

He walked straight into the field and soon felt genuinely sick.

He figured he probably deserved it.

**.**

The feeling inside near his heart continued—it resided over his daily thoughts, wondering, and committing to the black and mysterious aggressor. Kano continued giving him cause for anger and remorse—he became bitter and angry very quickly, perpetually. He stopped going to the meetings. Kosaka and Misao came by the end of June to try and support him, but he never answered the door. He hid in his room, feeling sicker than everything he'd experience before.

He did not want to go to the hospital.

He had some dark thought that if it was what he thought it was, he hoped it would kill him off promptly. He deserved it. He knew he did.

His resilience weakened somewhat as his chest and mind grew heavy—one night in late August, she came over—showing. "…What do you want…?"

"Coushander," she stared him down firmly. "I want to know why you're so angry. Why can't I talk about your brother, or say your name."

She still didn't get it. "Oh…" he cursed at himself. "…I'm dying. Go away."

She smirked sadly, she believed he was being sarcastic with her. "Of what? Your old war wounds?"

"Damn straight," he said with the most sincerity he had. "I'm an old man."

"Coushander—what's wrong with you. Did you…Did you really block us all out?"

"Block you out? I did more than that!" he said without thinking. "I made a new life far away from your damn fucking village with your conceited leader. It's meaningless—all of it. I wanted nothing to do with it. I am awful sorry I did what I did," he said again. "I wish you would have stayed out of my life—but I will tell you…that this…this child, this damn—"

"Him."

He stopped.

She stared him down with her own pain and betrayal clear in her eyes as she said again, "Him."

"He's…your child, not mine—"

"He's our son! He'll have a name, and a life—unlike some people. I guess, who can't seem to remember theirs…!"

"Dammit!" he cursed in fervor. "Enough! I am not you!" she shouted.

"What, you…You bear a grudge, against ninja, do you?"

"Got it finally!" he congratulated. "And now you think you can waltz back in my live and sucker me—I know that, you women always get what you want. Damn your maternal instincts, you're all the same—!"

"Now wait just a minute!" she shouted back, flustering. "This isn't one-sided by far. If anybody deceived anybody, it was you, all the way. You know something? You've always had my heart since I was sixteen…!" her face was red, "I tried thinking about a life without you, but every time, your name kept me from getting close to anybody. I worried about you, Coushander! I thought of you constantly. I love you, Kousa, I have always loved you."

He was silent.

"Please accept this now, this isn't easy for me, please—!"

"You know something…I will support that child. You have my word on that. But I will not be father to it—hell, I botched the first job I did pretty damn well," he said with faux pride. "I will not be a father to it—And, I cannot love you."

His words stung at her eyes far harsher than anything he'd ever said.

Their voices finally silenced.

She was desperate not to cry in front of him. "…Kousa—"

"Stop that."

She was determined, now, not to cry. "Sorry…" her voice quivered. "The name was just…instinct…You know…built into my brain after two years…"

He scoffed—and coughed, dryly. "We're not kids anymore."

"…You're right…" she agreed. "I don't know what you are anymore…other than…a…bastard," she hadn't wanted to say it, it was breaking her heart.

"Well there were far easier ways of finding that out."

She nodded slowly, curling her lip permanently. She knew it was time to leave. "…I hope you never treated your…wife, this way."

"Leave her out of this. Leave me out of this. I am an old man. The time that I have left…is devoted here, and the money I have left…will be divided accordingly. Leave me alone to die."

"…You…really…are sad," she looked at him, tears welling her eyes.

_Save your pathos for your patients,_ he thought bitterly.

She too was thinking something, but she did not say it.

Kano turned on her heel and left, letting herself cry when she neared the village.

**.**

One evening in November, she went to the hospital, by herself, and the child was born.

Coushander accepted the dullness in him—and he took strange comfort in his belief and hope it would kill him. He went to a meeting again, and actually enjoyed hearing the speaker talk. He spoke with Kosaka, but he was short and calm, and did not say much. When he stopped by her house on a Thursday night—she wasn't there. So he checked their village hospital—the first time he'd been there in twenty seven years. He found the baby had been born…and he stared…in disbelief.

Saru…was going to kill him.

He noticed the baby's tag bore her name, and an odd katakana scribble. An equally small child looked as if it'd written it…and not just any child…The writing looked too much like Matty's. He found something else and re-wrote the name in kanji.

Lightning had been Monkey's true element. Thought he had never learned to master it.

He walked away with some fear and went to find her room.

She was there—lying down, awake.

"…Hello…" He barely got out the greeting when she turned her head away in disdain.

"Kano…"

She stared at the wall and the window.

Anger roiled in him, "…Fine…"

He left to sulk.

**.**

"Keiko!"

She was upright, looking over a medical chart for another patient. It was four days after the birth.

"…Are you all right?!"

She smiled briefly. "…Yeah..."

Takato frowned. "God, I'm so sorry! When did you…?"

"The eleventh," she answered numbly.

The fact that she was still in bed worried him. "Are you…ok?"

The chart laid on her lap. "Oh…" she shook her head, and took her time—her heard was mess of confusion and sorrow and anger. "I don't know…I'm ok…And…they tell me the baby is ok—healthy…"

"'They' tell you….?" He took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I…" she started slowly. "I…haven't…seen it…I mean him."

"…What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen it!" she said, shaking her head. She didn't know he could understand. "I don't know if I can—It was…Well it was…" she smiled painfully. "I just…I don't know that can…keep that child," she worded.

"Keiko…"

"I know, I know," she looked away at the wall shamefully.

"Well…you at least need to see him before you…make that choice. Has…Coushander been around…?"

She sighed loudly. "I don't want to talk about that."

Takato looked at her with sympathy. "…Can you…talk a walk…?"

She looked up at him. She knew he'd help her.

Together the two went down to the nursery, where she saw her child.

It did her good.

She cried and knew she had to be the one to raise him—she loved him, instantly.

She accepted the name on the tag, but his nickname, she knew forever…would be 'little monkey'.

"…Welcome home, Jiraiya," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "Hello…little Saru…!"

**.**

"The baby is back home, now; where he belongs. That's all I'll say…"

Kosaka was quiet.

Coushander was resigned. He left to go home and keep busy to ignore the dark blackness that gripped him.

**.**

Morino Dalzen was so sorry he'd been away.

He decided to postpone their next leaving by a month (or two)…

He had a plan.

It was damn high time Hatake Coushander was reckoned with.

**.**


	22. In Your Confidence

(Quick note: I'm a little satisfied with this chapter for showing two things: the inner turmoil of a teen who knows their closest person is very sick, and two, the incoherent growing season of the land of fire who seemingly does not experience 'winter', as we know it…And p.s., in this, I'm counting Sakumo's birthday as February 9th. Don't ask me why, it just came out that way.)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 22  
_**In Your Confidence**_

**.**

**.**

The morning was blue and grey and lavender.

Sakumo had always found dawn so full of life and wonder—like a rambunctious young child. His father was always, always up at that calm hour. But today, it was still, and sleepless.

He sat outside the mission office, on a bench, hugging his knees. He was tired, incredibly, but after his father's final excursion, he could not sleep.

Sakumo worried for him.

And he thought a lot about an uncle he never knew he had.

'Saru' must have been one, amazing person, and with his death…the source of all his father's pain and anger.

Sakumo continued to sit there.

The men came along soon to open the doors and turn on the lights of that looming, dark building, and then another tall man came along—a high-ranking, upper class shinobi. His presence powerful, but quiet and strong. "…Sakumo…" he said. "What in the world are you doing out here?"

Sakumo looked up. "Do you…remember? We first met here…It all started here."

Dalzen frowned. "No…No, you're wrong, Sakumo. It started over thirty years ago in water country," He shook his head, "It's not your fault."

"Still…" he looked down, "I…couldn't sleep…I couldn't sleep at all…"

Dalzen sighed to himself and sat with the boy.

"I was…left here…when I was eight…just because I wanted to be what I am. I wanted to help my father that way; I wanted to help, and I thought, he'd understand, but he couldn't. And now…" the teen said slowly. "My father lost—he suffered so much…_because_ of this life…And it's hard…but I can't fathom losing that much…or…going through…what he did—it's awful…And…" he gathered himself to keep from tearing. "And I was thinking—all last night…it's not fair…It's not fair he…he has to leave…It's not fair."

"…What's done, is done, Sakumo," Dalzen said gently.

"…But!" The boy glanced at him, "But we _wasted_ so much_ time_. And now…I _know_ him—and I've—I've gotten to know Jiraiya…But…It's just…My father…was one of us, too; he wore a mask—"

"And he continued wearing it. Even after he felt his duty was over. You know how much security it has. And I can tell you for a fact, he stopped wearing it five years ago. When…we first learned he had cancer."

"…How'd…he get it?"

"Well…something called…'beryllium toxicity'."

Sakumo didn't understand.

"A little…like…asbestos, or mesothelioma. Resides in the lungs…and then….Yeah, we didn't believe it either, at first. Your…father seemed to accept it readily enough. What he didn't want to accept was us three back in his lives…"

"Wait…" Sakumo thought. "Was that why…before our mission away…we got a different sensei? You were…with him?!"

"Yes. That's right. I was going to sort him out, one way or another."

"But—I saw him, in the field, and I'd thought Jiraiya was…"

Dalzen smiled. "We attacked him there—on the porch, Keiko, Takato and I. We took him to the hospital; we didn't know if he really had anything or not, but I had a feeling…and it turned out…he did. He had surgery five years ago, and it's lasted him these five years…" Dalzen felt equally sympathetic towards the man the way his son did. "He's…a brave man, Sakumo…maybe more than you will know right now. But…I take blame," he said. "I do take blame. He left the village in such a…haste…I should have stopped him. I should have pursued him more than I did. I take fault for it too. I thought…he would come back. I really thought he would…" Dalzen smiled faintly. "Your father was so head-strong…You know that now, too."

"But…It's just….not fair…I know him now, and now…"

"I'm sorry, Sakumo…" Dalzen looked at Sakumo, distraught, with concern. "…I do know…I know how you must feel."

"…I…hardly know what I feel…"

"Still—you should go and rest."

Sakumo was still. "Oh—I'm…getting kicked out."

"Oh—they're making you?"

"They said I have to find a new place soon."

Dalzen thought. "…Ask Kano."

"..._Her…?"_ he said with reserve.

"Why not?"

He shrugged.

"…Ask her…and go—they won't let you sleep here, that's for sure."

Reluctantly, Sakumo uncurled himself and dropped his feet on the pavement. "…Thanks."

Kano Hoseki was not at home—though he met his little brother walking on his way to school. "…She's with _oh-doussan_," he explained. Another woman was watching the boy—Chinatsu Morino, Dalzen's wife. "What do you need her for?"

"Oh—nothing…Can I walk you to school?"

"Sure!" Jiraiya led the way with a slight skip in his step. "I can see your face today, Sakumo—are you tired?"

"Oh…well…I didn't…get…much sleep last night."

"How come?"

"I was…thinking, about things."

"…What kinds of things?"

"Just…" Sakumo smiled. "…things."

Jiraiya pouted in chagrin disappointment. "Grown-ups never tell me anything," he grudged.

"Well, they will…" the little boy looked up. "…When you're older."

Jiraiya frowned. "I'm going to be graduating soon, you know—and I'll get a new sensei. And I'll go on missions, just like you."

Sakumo smiled at him. "Well…be sure that you do graduate, and not cause trouble…You shouldn't give your mom any notes."

"But I don't _give_ my mom any notes…" Jiraiya grinned.

Sakumo rolled his eyes. "What_ do_ you get in trouble for, anyway?"

Jiraiya's grin turned into a devious one.

"Well there's no reason to do that," Sakumo continued. "Be a good student and respect your elders. You don't want a family emergency taking you out of there…"

"…Huh?"

"Be thankful you're _there_," Sakumo clarified, smiling.

The teen saw the young boy off, and went straight southeast outside of the village to go and see his father.

It was a long walk, as always—even longer with sleep deprivation trying to close his eyes and stop his legs. It slowed his gait—and his mind. After yesterday's overcast, it was good to see the sun shining up in the east, through long, beautiful streaks of yellow.

But when he came up the dirt road, and around the side of the house, he stopped short and silently—two people were talking.

"…Coushander—are you sure?"

"…Yes, yes…"

"I could…We could try something else—"

"I told you…" he said forcefully, "…I won't die there."

The woman was silent.

Sakumo suddenly had a sick, sad feeling in his chest.

"Well…Kousa…you can't keep staying out here."

Sakumo did not hear him respond.

"…You…need to lie down…" she said gently.

"Let…Let no one…see me."

She nodded, "Let me help you in."

Sakumo had sunk to the grass—his father was terribly sick—he was really…truly dying. The boy forced his knees back up and felt a sudden wave of panic. He looked above him and saw the woman helping his father to the open back door.

Sakumo trotted to the steps and stepped up—Kano saw him—tears stung his eyes as he looked up his father.

Coushander was confused as to why his helper had acquitted so soon—he saw she was staring at something. So he turned his head and saw his boy, standing there.

Through glazed eyes, Sakumo saw full well the clear blue water in his father's stone grey eyes that surrounded Kiri and the country, and he saw the snow-white mountains in the man's hair, and he felt he'd known him for only eight years and three nights. And the eight year old in him walked closer and touched the man's robe, and Sakumo hugged him—trying not to sob so loud.

Coushander did not know what to do. He looked at Keiko, who smiled a little tearfully for him. He released his hold and his right hand to put on his son's shoulder, and he gathered what breath was left in him. "…That's enough," he said softly. "…There's…no need for this…" The teen did not move. "…It's all right…It's ok."

His boy let go and found it equally hard to speak—his head went down, and he curled his lip—his face tight in emotion.

Coushander glanced at Kano again and then to his son. "…Sorry…" he said, watching the teen. "My…Sakumotsu…" he admired the boy. "I have missed you…I missed you very much."

"…I'm sorry," Sakumo said. "I'm sorry I left…I wish…I could have known."

The expression reminded Coushander of one he felt long ago, towards his own father. He too, regretted leaving. _The best way to find home,_ he thought, in his father's voice, _is to stay there. _Coushander shook his head. "…It's not your fault…It's all mine." _I let you go,_ he thought shamefully.

"But…" Sakumo struggled with the words, but he felt he needed to say it. "You…You can't go, you can't leave—it's not fair, it's _not fair."_

"…It's all right."

"…But how can you say that?"

"Because…we need…to be brave."

"But—But you can't go—you just can't," Sakumo said, believing his father couldn't. "I…I want to come by," he swallowed, "Every day—"

"No, you can't."

"Why?"

"Because…you cannot…remember me, that way."

"…I don't care…" Sakumo muffled softly.

Kano's heart empathized with the boy's sentiment.

"…You can't…" Coushander said with quiet reserve. _No matter how much I love you, it's time to say goodbye._ "The last…" he tried clearing his throat, but it wouldn't work. He forced himself to keep talking. "The last memory, that I have…of my brother…is of him lying dead, on the ground…with his eyes wide open…staring upwards…at the sky. I...would have rather lost him in the dark…than live with that image…all of my life."

The dark feeling paired with the dark pictures. Sakumo could not say anything; Jiraiya's mother spoke up, "…This isn't the land of mist, Kousa…" she said gently in his boy's defense.

"…No…? Well…it's the same principle…" His breath caught pain and held it. He shook his head. "Sakumo…Nothing is fair. Life is not fair. If it were fair, I'd have gotten what was coming to me, a very long time ago…Things happen…for a reason…You will learn…and accept," His chest tightened on him, reminding him to keep it short. "Just know…that I love you."

Sakumo looked at the floor and shut his eyes painfully.

Kano told him silently to wait there, as she helped his father inside.

Sakumo eventually let go of the painful feeling and he stood there idly, trying to keep his emotions within him. He touched the grey radio on the little wooden table, running his fingers over the faded dials. He touched the old red notebook, reincarnated he didn't know how many times over the years, and he wondered just how much physical pain his father was in—if there was really anything anyone could do. Sakumo did not want to see it end like this—he blinked again hard and trembled.

The woman came back out and he straightened somewhat, "How…is he…?"

"Well…not good…" she said uneasily.

"How…much time…does he…have left…?"

"Honestly…I really don't know….It might be a week…it may be two," She saw Sakumo react to the words. "Honestly—I'm not sure…You're father…is very strong." The boy wanted to cry all over again:

"But…can't I…see him?"

"Well…I guess I don't have too much of a problem…but he does. He's in pain, constantly, Sakumo…He says the only time it goes away is when he sleeps…I'm sure he'll be doing a lot of that…and, he can't speak—it's not easy for him."

"…I know…_I know…"_

She sighed quietly. "I'm so sorry, Sakumo."

He looked down—he never felt more weighed, more burdened by his father's pain.

"…Oh…" Sakumo remembered slowly, looking up at her nervously, "Um…Ms Kano…"

"Oh, please, just Keiko is fine. They all call me that."

"Well, I…I wondered if I could ask you…a favor…" he said uneasily.

"Anything; what is it?"

"Well…the place where I live…they won't house anyone past fourteen—I got back after they changed the rules, so…I…well, I…need somewhere to stay…"

"…Oh! Of course! You must come and stay with me—You know, I need a babysitter for Jiraiya, Hina can't keep doing it…" she smiled. "You'd be perfect for the job. Please, move your things, you're very welcome."

"Thank you—so much."

"You know, Sakumo, I plan to stay with your father, at all times now. He's…only going to get worse; I need to look after him. I guess…I won't mind if you come over during the day…but I think even in my view…there will come a point at which you may find it's best you should not see him."

"…But…" Sakumo didn't understand. "But I want to…I mean, I know he won't be able to…I mean, I just…"

She smiled. "…One day at a time, for now," she told him.

He nodded slowly, "…Yeah."

His things—mainly clothes—had already been packed and set aside.

He went and got them after the long, lonely walk back into the bustling and noisy village, and he found his way to her home—mentally and physically exhausted. Sakumo thought of his father as he fell asleep.

Sakumo woke up before two, swearing to the high heavens he'd only just laid down. Slowly, he came to his senses and went down to the academy to collect Jiraiya at three.

The little child was ecstatic to see his ani coming out the door—enough for the two of them. "…Sakumo!" he exclaimed.

"Hi there."

"What'cha doing here?"

"Well…I'm going to be baby-sitting you. Your mother's with…our dad. She's…taking care of him."

"…Can we go and see them?"

Sakumo frowned. "…No…I'm sorry…Do you…have any homework?"

Jiraiya stuck his tongue out. "I don't want to do _that…"_

"Well…how about we _do that_, and then we can go do something else, how about that?"

Jiraiya thought very quickly upon his niisan's request. "…Ok!"

**.**

"…And…what's the twenty-fifth rule?"

Jiraiya shrugged. "I don't know."

"Jiraiya, you're supposed to know these!"

"It's something about crying—is that good enough?"

Sakumo laughed. The boy was truly something else. He could see his mother in his eyes and brow—their father in his hair and clothes; "Are we done yet?" he begged.

Sakumo smiled; he was about to go back to the beginning of the lesson when he heard the front door unlock. He peered over and saw it was Jiraiya's mother.

"…Okaasan!"

"Hello, there," she smiled as the young boy jumped out of the chair to see her.

"How's o-tou?" the boy asked her.

"He's…resting," she smiled awkwardly. "…Anyway, I just came back to see how you were getting along," She looked up at Sakumo. "You found the spare room, ok?"

He nodded. "Yes—thank you."

"Good—and, I just came back to get some medication…"

The woman got the medicine she needed and came back out and looked at Sakumo with concern. "…You doing all right?"

He smiled faintly, and nodded.

She smiled for his support, and turned to her little boy, "You be good for Sakumo, ok?"

Jiraiya smiled. "I will."

Kano looked at Sakumo again, "If you need anything, please just let me know."

"Thank you."

She smiled, and left.

**.**

The teen fixed his brother dinner, and embarked on a safe adventure—learning the forest around their home before the night came, and young Jiraiya (against his will) went to bed.

Sakumo stayed up, a couple photographs had caught his attention on the shelf in the den. The picture of the three Hatake men was there, on the left. He hadn't understood at the time how important it'd been to Kano-san, but now he knew. He regarded it now as something incredibly rare. There was his father and him and the little boy—his otouto. But to the right of it was a picture he found the most rare…It was a grey-scale, black and white picture of five people standing on a dock in front of the ocean—his father, Keiko; the younger Keiko's father, Ichida Takato, then the young-faced Dalzen, and then someone who reminded Sakumo of his little brother—it was Saru-Shin, his uncle.

Sakumo held the narrow and smooth black frame in his hands containing the photo. He looked at it for a long time. It was an image in evidence of everything his father had said—Sakumo looked at it long and hard, tears eventually coming to his eyes. There, on the dock, his father had a black sheath and hilt tied to his waist—mask and dark eyes, like in pictures with his mother, Matsuko. There, Keiko and Ichida-san were both younger, both with slightly nervous expressions, but wearing odd smiles. His sensei and captain—tall and incredibly gruff looking with a dark hairstyle that hadn't changed—long and framing his face. The intensity though was so much darker in that and his eyes—his eyes were shadowed almost ominously. And there, to contrast everyone, Saru was smiling broadly as Sakumo had imagined his manner would be. Saru was shorter than his father—about Ichida-san's height. And there…were those stripes his father spoke of—Saru-Shin had them, at the corners of his eyes.

They wore no headbands, but they were shinobi. Long ago.

After his mind quieted somewhat, Sakumo finally slept.

He saw Jiraiya off in the morning, and then promptly went to the office. He met Dalzen just as he was coming out the door. "There you are," he said. "There's a meeting."

"…Oh."

"Come on—it's in the chamber."

Sakumo saw Seichi on the far side as he came in, along with Sarutobi Hizuren, a jounin and powerful ninja. There were other jounin he did not immediately recognize. Nidai was there, in the center of the room, talking with a police-force Uchiha.

"Hello, Dalzen," Sarutobi greeted him—he nodded, "Sakumo."

Nidai noticed the final entries and cleared his throat. He gestured for Seichi to speak.

The dark-haired boy nodded. "I came back to the village yesterday," he addressed them. "With news that Nikure is back in Suna, just east of area 37. I gathered he was meeting with some people on some sort of business—I couldn't get close because of the damn blockade. Anyway, I brought the notion before all the council and kage to go ahead and track him before he moves again. I believe he could go north into Iwa, and we might never see him again. So, it's the purpose of this meeting to further debate the issue," Seichi stepped back, folding his arms.

"Danzou," Nidai granted.

The young man stepped forward. "I support that decision. If we wait, another attack could be planned."

"Well," Hizuren said. "We still do not know if he really was the one behind that attack, it's still impossible to prove."

"But he did have a hand in it."

"By an eye-witness," Dalzen said.

"Still! Give him another year, he'll cross another dot off the list!"

"The council hasn't proved it yet—nor ours, or Suna," Sarutobi argued.

"Do you suggest we just sit back and wait?"

"We could send in all the spies in the world…" an older Hyuuga man said, "And we still would not know for sure. Hizuren is right—no one has proved the full extent of his involvement. The only thing that would do that right now," he glanced at Dalzen, "Is a mind read."

"…A genjutsu might be able to do it too," the Uchiha suggested. "Depends if he's got blocks or not."

The Hyuuga nodded shortly. "Both options…require the man in custody."

"How can we do that for the blockade?" Seichi asked. "No one can get past that local lord's team. Those sand ninja are dead-set loyal."

"Waiting…cannot be an option," Danzou said.

"…I agree," Sarutobi said. "But whatever we do, we must do with fairness and caution…We all tried to figure out the attack for months—I know Dalzen's team especially. If those two suna ninja they worked with would be willing to talk to their superiors, we might be able to do a joint venture."

Dalzen nodded slowly. "Murasaki…would be up for the challenge."

Nidai nodded. "The council will reconvene and discuss this…we will notify those two ninja. You'll be informed of the decision—Dismissed."

Sakumo watched the Uchiha and the Hyuuga stay behind—he saw Seichi talking privately with Danzou.

"…What do you think?" Dalzen asked him as they entered down the hallway.

The decision, really, did not involve Konoha much—area 37 was the place they'd dubbed in sand country, located near their north-eastern border near the neutral zone and the small villages of Rain, Waterfall, and Iwa, to the north. The area had once been home to an old wind temple of prayer, built long ago. Nearly two years ago, it'd been completely obliterated and destroyed—absolutely nothing had been left, as if some strong gust of wind severed and leveled it, imprisoning the contents beneath the mounds of sand. The teams excavated fragments—the largest ones the size of a tea cup. It was like it'd been completely incinerated—Sakumo and the others had been lucky enough to have seen it rather than the pictures. They were not allowed inside the area, but just outside it, and the damage of the whole area was evident. Since then, a local lord around that area began to get paranoid his province would be next, so he hired a team of loyal sand ninja to guard it—not even the Suna village's ninja were allowed in or out. The province blocked a good deal of land in front of area 37, so the area, after all the teams left, was now vacant, and nearly inaccessible. The only person they found who might have had a hand in it, was Nikure Ishio, a mercenary, as of late, for the land of clouds, as told by his bank account and other factors the sand village had noticed.

Sakumo wasn't really interested now that he was thinking about his father. But he could still remember the way he felt, looking across the stretch of land, where nothing was there at all—no trace of the magnificent old wind temple, nor the surrounding small town. "Well…yes…I agree, he should be pursued…"

"And what of…an interrogation?"

"…That, too."

Dalzen smiled.

"…What? Why're you asking me…?"

"…No reason."

Sakumo frowned. "That's about the same reason you gave for meeting my mother."

"…Oh?"

Sakumo shook his head. "…Nevermind."

"I sense…you're a bit snappish today," Dalzen stopped him.

"No…I'm just…thinking about…too many things, that's all."

"I know you are. Still. This situation could become very important. It's best to keep your eyes open." Dalzen began walking again, to the right corridor, towards the Intel division.

"Hey, where are you going…?"

"…I'll tell you later."

"Well…what do I…" the words turned quiet onto himself, "…do…"

Sakumo sighed. He didn't have much interest, either, in completing their maps of the western part of sand country, but still, he made himself go the opposite way to work in the office—keeping too long an eye on the clock above the door.

Two forty-five, he left, and collected Jiraiya.

"…Anything exciting happen…?" Sakumo said with a headache.

"Yeah! We had an emergency drill today!"

"Oh…" Sakumo chuckled: more chaos. "That's…great…"

"Yeah, I know, it was funny, too, cause Dosui-sensei jumped out of his chair at the noise! It was funny."

"Did he…?" Sakumo smiled. "…D'you have homework?"

"Yeah—but I can do it later, it's the weekend, now!"

"You know…it pays to get it done now, so you don't have to think about it," his ani said very logically.

The young boy groaned. He suddenly did not like Sakumo. "Oh…you're just like _kaa_-chan!"

Sakumo grinned. "…Good."

**.**

Jiraiya took up all of his time—Kano did not return until Sunday night—the first of February. Come Monday, Sakumo felt he had to see his father…He took off at the noon hour and assailed straightaway south through the village and out, finding the road home. When he got there, the back door was open, so he went in that way. Kano was with his father in the front bedroom—he was sleeping on the floor. Keiko was sitting in the right corner; she saw him and she smiled.

"…Hi…" he said slowly. The teen knelt down by his father's side and sat. He was quiet for a moment until he finally looked to her, "How…is he…?"

"Well…about the same."

"…Oh…" And as he looked on, he saw his father wasn't sleeping—his face tight in pain—the man did not move, nor flinch. He was simply, set. A sudden wave of empathy bent the boy's back—his cheeks openly flushed and it hurt him to see his father this way. Sakumo did not feel easy with him. Coushander had been right to wish for him not to do this, but Sakumo still couldn't understand letting him go without as much.

"…I'm sorry, Sakumo," Keiko said.

He looked down at the blanket. "…I'm sorry, too," he said, and sighed quietly. He glanced back up at his father's chest. "…Jiraiya misses you…and…so do I…I wish…I wish there was _something_…"

Keiko said nothing, sympathizing with him.

Sakumo wanted to believe that somehow his father would fight his way out—he wanted to believe it because he knew his father was always that kind of man. A good and strong man of fortitude…a strong right arm and presence. He was a fighter, Sakumo just hadn't known how literal, in his younger days. Now as the man laid there, Sakumo could not help him.

Sakumo stayed there for a little while longer and then he left—stopping in on his old room before he went.

There was a thin layer of gray dust over his dresser. Two dusty wooden boxes sat upon it—one was made of pure cedar. He opened it—a strong, sweet smell rolled out. A black velvet box, still laid inside. He opened it silently and saw the delicate carved wolf look up at him—wild and intense, and beautiful.

In eight days, it'd be his sixteenth birthday.

In eight days, it'd still be there.

In eight days, his father would rise early, fix breakfast, and give it to him.

**.**

Kosaka couldn't wait. "…Darn you, Coushander…" he muttered and pulled out the note from his pocket for the second time that day. He opened it up as he sat on his fence, guarding rows and rows of green, knee-high corn. He opened it up and read in good handwriting,

_Kosaka,_

_An old man once told me about the scythe I carry: he who wields me, wields the world. He gave that old scythe to me, and now, I'd like you to have it. You don't have to use it, but remember those words, and just wonder for a moment if they are true. I can tell you, I have believed them genuinely all these years._

_I would ask that you return it with this letter to my son, providing it endures, upon your own demise or will, as you see fit. When he is older, he will understand. Do not give the blade away to anyone else. (Especially not to a man named 'Stein'.) The old man and I would turn in our graves—if one of us hasn't done so already._

_Thank you, Kosaka, all these years, for either listening to a lunatic, or being a little crazy yourself. Or both. Good luck, and good harvest._

_Coushander_

"…Oh…Kousa…" he murmured uneasily.

He looked up over the green stalks. "…Rest easy…" he wished.

**.**

"There you are—there's a meeting, come along."

"But I just—"

Sakumo followed his sensei and sighed. He hadn't had lunch, and he was about to be forced into a room of jounin to talk about something he wasn't wholly interested in at the moment. Apparently, their schedules, did not coincide with his…

Nidaime was there, again, along with the same group of ninja.

"There's been a development," Nidai said. "Murasaki and another sand ninja have reported to us that Nikure is no longer in that country. Murasaki said he moved northeast, through Rain and Waterfall. We're still considering a joint venture, at the moment, too many ninja would draw attention—you'll be notified shortly when we reach a decision. Dismissed."

Sakumo sighed; _so long as they don't send me…_he hoped. He walked out—Dalzen stayed behind. Sakumo felt he was suddenly content to stick to drawing maps.

**.**

Six days later, February the seventh, Kano Hoseki saw something change in Coushander. "I'll…I'll be…right back…" she murmured to him uneasily.

She came back…with morphine.

He had the dream again.

He hadn't dreamed it in a while, not since he married Keiko. He was walking without a limp or any pain to mar him, and he felt the gravity pull him gently, upwards. The cliff extended up, and there were the orange fish and there was the clear water below, both forces running smoothly over stones in a calm afternoon, beside a deep green forest. He remembered seeing it, and it was peaceful. And he remembered walking, the birds sitting in the trees, and he remembered walking with someone at his side. He finally remembered, singing, _Oh ne'er shall I forget the night, the stars, were bright above me…_They were finally going to return to Konohamaru…

February the tenth, an early Tuesday morning, she woke up in the room and saw he was looking at her, smiling faintly. And then he closed his eyes…ne'er opening again.

She straightened…she took his pulse, and she found none.

And she cried moments later, touching his hand, and sobbing.

**.**

Sakumo, half asleep the early morning after turning sixteen, heard something scratch at the office door that calm morning. Dalzen opened it, and Sakumo's eyes widened—no shinobi was there. His eyes looked down as a medium-size grey dog ran in, in perfect circles around his tail. Sakumo had never seen the dog before. "…Hairo," Dalzen said. "…Hairo, here."

The grey dog stopped dizzily and swayed before the tall man. A folded note was tied to his leg. Dalzen untied it and read it.

The dog looked around idly and noticed the teen behind him. Hairo stared intensely for a moment and then he growled suspiciously—he then barked and inhaled the scents of Sakumo—running around the chair and tile in a pure frenzy.

"…Hairo, stop that," Dalzen commanded distantly. The dog stopped and sniffed Sakumo and yapped even louder. "Hairo, down—Go back to Keiko—Go back to her, go, now."

Slowly, the dog pranced for the door, he looked behind him.

"…Go on, get."

The dog, with a spring, disappeared out the door way and Sakumo had a sudden realization—"Wait…that's…_her_ dog…?"

Dalzen looked at him, a sad look in his eyes. "I'm…sorry…Sakumo…But…your father…has passed away."

Silence.

Sakumo slowly felt numb.

"You…stay here—I'm going to…go…" he folded the note in his hand, and walked out.

Sakumo sat there for a long while, staring at the door and the desk, and vice-versa.

The sixteen year old felt somber and empty, but he didn't feel like crying just yet.

It was too surreal.

He sat there silently, and waited.

**.**


	23. Nobody Will Suspect Dalzen's Inquisition

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 23  
_**Nobody Will Suspect Dalzen's Inquisition**_

**.**

**.**

Unexpectedly, Coushander saw Kano come around to his back porch.

"…Kano…" he was surprised she walked up to him on the steps and stopped and stared.

Then he heard two other pairs of footsteps come round the side of the house—a tall man with dark hair, and a shorter man with fair-colored hair, with still, a young face.

He slowly recognized them both as they joined Kano on the porch top.

He gaped. He stood—"What…the…"

"Hello Coushander," Morino Dalzen said. "…Are you ill?"

"…What…the…fuck…?"

"Are you ill?"

He looked at them each in complete shock. "What…in the…" His armageddon had finally come. He looked at Dalzen—presumably their leader—and said as firm as he could, "…Get off my property!"

"No, it's not going to work that way. You're going to answer me."

"No…No—Look, what happened between me and her is between us—"

"Yes, and I'm sure she feels very secure in that relationship."

"What—What in the hell do you want from me?!" Coushander stammered. "Why are you here—did I break building codes or something?!"

"Well I ask you again—Are you ill?"

"What in the hell does that matter?!"

"It matters a great deal to those who still consider you a friend."

"Aw…" Coushander scoffed—and coughed. "Get the hell off—Go away—I want nothing to do with you."

"But are you ill?"

"Why the hell are you asking me that!" he shouted.

"Because I have reason to suspect."

"Then 'suspect' otherwise, and get the hell off this property."

Dalzen sighed. "If you insist…"

Coushander blinked and suddenly saw snow-white feathers, a slew of them coming down around him. An overwhelming feeling of weariness fell over him. Sleep slowly closed his eyes and dropped his body.

"Honestly…" Dalzen observed curiously, "I didn't think…he'd…really fall for it…"

Their Keiko bit back tears as the two carried him to the village's hospital. She said nothing as they walked.

Kousa had to make the decision whether or not to get examined. He was alone to make it (when he eventually awoke) with the doctor, and for two reasons, he agreed to a scan (providing they took his insurance…).

He was already brought there, for one, why not entertain himself? And two, why not know, for sure, what you're going to die from…?

In the evening hour, Dalzen came into a room—only Kano and Takato were there, the woman was sitting in a chair, hunched over miserably, her head in her hands. Takato stood looking at a lit view box on the wall. There was a grey scan and a cloudy white mass.

Keiko was crying. She looked up briefly and guiltily. "I guess…he tried to tell me," she wiped her eyes. "But…I didn't listen…And I wonder…" she quieted.

"Am I…looking at…what I think I'm looking at…?" Dalzen asked her.

She nodded. "I…don't know how he would have gotten it…Tenzure wouldn't tell me what Coushander said…but I know…he doesn't smoke…but I guess…he could have gotten it anyway…Oh…I don't know…"

"…Is he going to schedule surgery?"

She wanted to cry again. "I don't know…" she said shakily. "They…haven't mentioned it to me…yet…but…I just don't know how this happened," she cried.

Coushander was sitting alone, six rooms down on the edge of the bed, facing the window, formally making cordial acquaintances with the pain in his chest.

Dalzen walked in alone, and saw his backside. "…Did you know?"

"No…and yes," Coushander responded to the voice.

"…Do you know how you got it?"

_You people probably gave it to me,_ he thought. "…No," he answered calmly.

"…You going to schedule a date?"

"What the fuck will that matter…" he muttered to himself.

"…What was that?"

"I said…" Coushander shook his head. He didn't exactly ask for this. He had wondered how his life could be any worse…but he never wished it to go that way a hundred miles an hour, only to crash into a hopeless situation and chest full of pain. He knew though…that was usually how life went. His boy left him—he loved, briefly, another woman, resulting in a terribly bad nightmare, and now that tall man was there to haunt him again—all three of them this time. Damn those shinobi—tramping across his three year-old's mind…interfering in his life to show him a demon near his heart. "No—Nevermind," he said, and sighed. A small part of him was tired of fighting, and tired of ignoring all the pain he constantly felt.

"Well…" Dalzen suddenly smiled to himself. "At least you're talking to me."

Coushander said nothing.

"I'd like us to have a talk when this is over, too," he said, meaning after the surgery.

"…There's nothing to say," Coushander said.

"I think there's a great deal to say—especially on your part."

Coushander bit his lip—trying to ignore him.

"You will see me, when you've recovered?" Dalzen confirmed.

"…Sure," _When small pigs fly,_ Coushander thought bitterly. _If I would survive…and that's a big 'if'…_

Dalzen left him, and some tension released from Kousa as well. He'd already made an adjustment to his trust six months ago. His life…since he'd come back to his old home, had been relatively free of health issues—besides Matty's. He rested his head in his hands and thought. He enjoyed the privacy, but even that rapture wasn't enough to make him gung-ho about the idea. A week and a half later, his mind was tired of reflection, and numb to apprehension, and eventually, quiet…to sedative…

Coushander's surgery went well as expected, and the eldest Hatake recovered in another room for a few days. Kano was there, and so was Jiraiya, in a crib—far more comfortable than his father was when he eventually woke up.

The woman looked after him, and had had a hard time believing the biopsy results a week prior. It was hard to fathom—He really did have cause now to hate them all. She couldn't think it'd been smoke related, she imagined it'd been something more like mesothelioma or the like—from particles in the air. He and Takato had been tossed around fairly well by the Uchiha and her psychomantic giants, wearing beryllium…It was confirmed, and still.

And he awoke with a very strange feeling near his heart. The breath in him felt numb and sterilized. He felt like choking on it. It was an uncomfortable feeling that made him long for the pain, instead of what he was feeling now. It would take some getting used to, and a long time of recovery…but he felt…to his dismay, he might actually live.

And a few days later, the real healing began in his mind when Dalzen and Takato joined Keiko and the child in looking after him (at least as far as an awake Coushander could remember). Kousa did not want to respond to them at first—he did not feel he could respond to it. His confidence in his body was not astronomical. The odd mixture of numbness and pain were just enough to have dissolved his strength to nil. They gave him a pad of paper and a pen if he wished to respond. The pen looked like it weighed ten pounds beside him, and the three of them around his bed on chairs, were far too close for comfort, like statues, staring in at him. He suddenly felt trapped, and he turned his head in disgust. He had a bad feeling of where this chat would go.

"…You know…I like it better when he can't talk…" Kano muttered to the two men.

Coushander rolled his eyes and continued to stare at the window.

"Coushander, you will listen to me," Dalzen said. "To us. You owe us that much."

_…No, I don't,_ he thought.

"I'm sorry for what's happened, Coushander, but I daresay…I think you knew it was coming…Is that correct?"

The man tossed his head grumpily.

Dalzen frowned. "Is that all you're going to do? Won't you at least look at me, Kousa?"

Coushander winced at the name. He exhaled loudly and felt an impatient anger pound his mind tight. Reluctantly, he reached for the pen to his side and on the pad, scribbled:

_This is pointless._

Dalzen frowned again. He moved his seat closer and Coushander looked away in return. "…Pointless," Dalzen looked at him wearily. "Is seeking out a friend, pointless? Was…the honor, your brother endured, pointless?"

Coushander's eye went wide in shock as he looked at the tall Morino—disbelieving he'd heard correctly the last sentence. The words 'how dare you' could not leave his lips. He shook his head and turned away—suddenly sweating in a panic.

Dalzen's glance conferred with the others—Coushander's reaction was the same as they'd experienced before. The Morino wanted to pursue him on the subject of shinobi, but he had another question to asked first, one he didn't not want to, but had to; "Coushander, did you want to die?"

The Hatake bit his lip and refused to take the pen or move his head.

"You told Keiko…in whatever confidence you had…then…you gave up."

His mouth opened, but he could not speak. Bound by silence, he decided to pick up the pen in hopes of shooing away the trio.

_I never gave up,_ he wrote. _Just leave me the hell alone—It's all I've asked. Who do you think you are?_

He meant the last sentence towards Dalzen.

"…Yes," Dalzen said after a while. "…You were quite...short with me, when I saw you last. That was very rude. You shouldn't treat friends like that."

Coushander glared, seething. He scribbled again.

_I am not associated with you._

Dalzen understood the answer. "…What do you mean by 'you'?" But he wanted Kousa to write it, and he did, one word:

_Shinobi._

"…Well…Whether you can separate me by the headband and myself…You are still a friend. And you…were so vastly different that what you are now, from then…Keiko's learned that, well enough."

The woman colored, and looked away, saying nothing.

"Truth is…I don't think you…grieved, properly…Nor did we, or I, pursue you."

Coushander was fuming over his words. A grip of anger and rage weighed his mind. He was beginning to forget the feelings of his breath and chest. He wrote: _My choice._

"…Your choice…under a…confused and…shocked mindset."

Coushander, incensed, double-underlined what he just wrote.

Dalzen slowly shook his head. Really, it was worse than he thought. He feared it would be. He had that inclination ever since he met the man by chance on that road where he saw him in the wagon. Coushander was cold to him then, cold to him now. The level of indifference the man tried to exude, presumably not just on a daily basis, but a second-by-second minute of every day left him shocked by any counter-action. The Morino had it all deduced…and he had to change the mindset somehow. Coushander's stubbornness, though, had not changed._ Every young war horse has their setbacks…_

"..Your choice," Dalzen argued again. "Under the pressure of shock."

_"…No!"_ Coushander finally got out. He touched his chest in consequence.

"Don't exert yourself, Kousa."

"Damn…you…!" the man whispered, feeling a havoc and unbalance in him.

"…I can wait…" Dalzen said, but Coushander hadn't really heard him.

He watched the others retreat as his attention re-directed to his body.

Kano let a nurse take over as she talked with the men. Her conversation was short and quiet—she was just as affected as Kousa was. Every time she told her self Coushander was different, it broke her heart. She'd tried to get over him, but now, with Dalzen and Takato's presence…she had to see if Coushander would wake up from water country, and change.

Still, she saw in her dreams, day or night, Kousa, dark sword and eyes…ready to laugh...and try…And now Dalzen was trying…and Coushander was there, denying what made him. What had made _them._

Dalzen let him cool off through the night, and the next round started the following morning. The three walked in: "…Hello, Coushander…"

He opened his eyes and watched the three of them re-take their positions.

"…How are you feeling, today…?"

Coushander was sitting mostly upright, and he cleared his throat uneasily, and said nothing.

"…I can see your stubbornness…" Dalzen smiled cordially, "…is still legendary."

Kousa shook his head. "…This…is pointless."

"…Oh—"

"Oh for once in your life, shut up and listen," Keiko said without warning—or thinking. She turned her head away.

The four were silent.

Her frustration, Coushander felt well enough, deep inside of him. The tight ball of anger that knotted his mind pressed painfully and told him never to concede to it, and never to yield. Not to _shinobi_. Never. He looked at her profile, part woman, part ninja—he abhorred the latter—he still had to work out the other part. He saw Dalzen and Takato—both weathered in that military element; he could see it in their eyes, and it caused him sickness in his heart. Coushander's mind was set. He wanted to disclaim the premise of everything they said…as ninja.

Dalzen was surprised he could speak. The man's voice was not strong, but there, in defiance. "Coushander…your animosity toward shinobi isn't founded in anything rational, or with reason. You were tortured on that behalf, you were nearly killed on that behalf…You will listen to us."

Coushander could not believe what he just heard. "…How…" his voice broke. "…_Dare, you!"_

"No, you will _listen_—"

_"Damn you! I won't—!"_

"Oh shut up," Kano said uneasily between the two. "And calm down."

"…No, no…No…" Coushander shut his eyes. "You have no right…" He clutched his shirt. "You have no _right_ to do this—"

"Yes we do," Dalzen argued him. "As a friend—I wonder why you're so uptight about this. What happened to make you this way?"

"Oh—" Coushander cursed. "None of your business!"

"We were there, too," he explained with simplicity, "We saw him too."

Coushander right hand moved from his chest to his ear. "…No, dammit—Stop, stop…" Coushander's eye's closed again.

Something was trying to resurface in his mind.

He fought it back down.

"I will not stop, and you will own to this. It's not your fault, you were traumatized."

Vehemently, Kousa shook his head. "Stop…talking…." The man was agitating the memory further and further. Coushander shook, trying to fight it from surfacing. He fought wildly, like mad. It was like a piece of wreckage from a shipwreck. He kicked the plank to keep it down in deeper water, fighting it so it didn't trip and catch him to drown him with it—if the water didn't first. The damn dark ocean was an eastern one, a cold one, turning him to face the ship and debris. He could not fight for long, or he would die.

"No…No, no…"

"It's all right…" Dalzen continued. "It's not…your fault."

…

_**Your fault.**_

The words tripped him under. Both palms cradled his head as he keeled over—his head to the sheets—the sudden pain in his chest like a cold flood water rushing to fill his lungs. He vowed he would not look, he would not look to see what dragged him under. "No…!" He shook his head desperately and trembled as if he'd fallen into something as cold and deep as snow. "No…" he choked on his breath, "No…" Something—Someone was waiting for him on the ocean's floor.

"Dalzen…" Keiko got up and stared blankly at Coushander.

Dalzen wasn't sure what he'd done—his two comrades looked at him strangely, and they watched Coushander fall apart so easily inside his own mind. It stunned them.

Finally, the man got to shaking so much so that Kano tried to use chakra near his heart and mind to calm him down and/or snap him out of the seeming trance—but it didn't work as he did not register her presence anymore.

"Kousa…" she said again. "Cou…shander…"

"Coushander…calm down…" Dalzen told him. "What're you…"

_**Your**__…fault._

_It was all_ your _fault._

_You were too weak to defend yourself._

You_ are the reason…he…is…dead…_

"…Kousa…?"

He opened his eyes.

That was a close one.

Shakily he drew back on his own and stared down, breathing, numb to the coldness he felt around him. He couldn't look—he _refused_ to look. He shook his head. He would not look.

"Coushander, are you…" Takato wondered, meaning to finish 'all right' when the air defeated the purpose.

"…Don't…" Coushander said as Dalzen was about to say something. "Don't…say…_anything_…"

"It's…all right…" Dalzen said slowly. "To…grieve…"

His brother's eyes were open.

Coushander screamed. _**"…No!"**_

He drowned. The water choked him suddenly—the image came upon him without warning. He was cold, trapped, and sweating, his leg was of no use, he fell on the ground, and there was Saru, he saw, _dead_, his eyes and his marks…staring upwards at the sky…

Everything about that moment, Coushander relived. It broke him. The memory was too strong, he voiced 'no' over and over again, in his heart and mind. He shook; his eyes were shut to a sudden furnace of heat and tears on the cliff side by the river—his left arm ached, it was cut horrifically, his brother…there before him. _Oh God,_ he thought, _"Saru!"_

Then he cried.

Tearlessly, at first, then in full. "No," he said, "…No."

The water was cold, the air was hot, and so was he.

It was the cliff, and the birds, and the orange fish…mostly though, it was Saru-Shin. He was there, beneath Satsumasendai, beneath the ambition of men and pride and loss. He was there, above his brother, beneath the blue sky and above the dark eyes and red lines…

_**"No!"**_ he screamed again.

And it _was_ his fault.

He was…_still_ in that battle…far away from all of them…

It got him, in the end…

He drowned……

**.**

Coushander said nothing beyond that—his health poor and his mind more confused and weary from all simple forms of thought. He faded quickly from the world as if he drifted silently, as a drown man does in some small cleft out under a vast space of dark, and murky sea. He did lose his pulse once; perhaps he was trapped and felt he could not breathe—Kano stayed with him and the baby, and she feared, she did not know what was happening to him. He broke so easily for them, she felt lost, the exact same way she did when he was brought to the hospital all those years ago. He was as fragile as he was then—both physically and now mentally. It hadn't been a good idea to try him—she wanted to chide Dalzen for it, but she couldn't deny the extraordinary crossroads their paths had come to. Two days after, though, in the morning, the Hatake saw Takato and Dalzen come in again, and the man swallowed painfully and said to him, "I…" Dalzen moved the chair closer just to hear him. "…need…to…to…go home…"

Dalzen stared.

He looked at the others and gaped: "That's…what he…he said…after…"

Morino Dalzen had learned about the mind from Jeremiah. And the mind, after severe periods of stress or shock, had a tendency to disorder itself and return to a previous state of mind. The case was evident after trauma, or in a survivor's mind, that would react in pure instinct. The Morino was shocked at what havoc he stirred in Kousa—he wondered where the man thought he was. "You're…home…" he ventured cautiously. "It's all right…you're safe, now. We're…all here."

Coushander's body was still.

He looked as if he'd spent the night in a very dark room.

He forcibly began to move his head—Saru's form was there, again, in his mind's eye, haunting him. The Hatake closed his eyes in agony.

"…It's all right…You'll… get through this…" Dalzen repeated. "Do you…know…where you are…?"

He let out a moan. "…It was my fault," he whispered, his voice light and nearly gone.

The trio looked at each other.

"…What…?"

"My fault…" he whispered painfully again, to no one in the room but his white-haired brother. "It's my fault…you're…dead."

Keiko put a hand to her mouth.

Takato grimaced.

"No…" Dalzen shook his head. "No, it's not. No—"

"Yes…" Coushander mourned in suffering. His brother's eyes would not close as Coushander tightened his eyes shut. "It's my fault…" he said apologetically, a heat steaming his eyes and mouth.

"He…He willingly did—"

"No…No…He…wanted…you…"

"But… he still went—He would not have, if he—"

Kousa shook his head tightly. "He wanted you," he voice sounded like tears. "…He…didn't want me," he took a breath. "I was…only going…to get in the way—I wasn't strong enough…Too damn…I was never, strong enough."

Tears were at the woman's eyes as well, watching him.

"If you an' him…would have gone—"

"No—the same thing could have happened—You wanted the other plan to work, there's no shame in that. I agreed with you, Kousa, I did. I made him take you just as much as you did. And he did accept it. He did, because he—"

"I was…a liability…" Coushander drew breath again. "I was weak," he said harshly at himself. "I was a _horrible_…" …_shinobi_. He shook his head. "It's my fault he…had…to come, save me…My fault."

He felt cold again, as the waves and current would come over and drown him again and snuff the breath of him and his ghost. He didn't have the strength to pull himself out this time…But someone took his left hand…and he felt a wet rope.

"Oh Kousa," she said. "It's not your fault."

He recognized her voice. Like with so many other things, he didn't want to believe it. He inhaled sharply and floated there with the dark objects, lost, and cold in the middle of nowhere. He didn't know where he was now, but as he thought, someone else began speaking to him, from above the heavy grey clouds—it was neither of the trio around him, it was someone else, someone different, and who told him…to keep walking. And he found it totally confusing, until he remembered he could walk upon the water. He could walk that distance, if he wanted to. Coushander felt afraid to do it. Ice had held him so long, he could not fathom fighting now. But someone…held his hand. It was like a strong, odd sense of déjà vu…one that reminded him he succeeded once before…he could do it again.

And a small grey dog would prance around his feet…

And that strong voice would guide him across all dark water and hills and mountains…

And catch him…if he should fall…

His heart rate slowly evened out on the monitor…and he slept, for a very long time.

Jiraiya was unusually loud that day.

**.**

The pentagon was silver and small, and Dalzen looked at it often. He carried it with him-on an inside pocket of his vest. There were five precise points to it, each equal in angle and scope—different in position. Since then, he'd been in many five-man groups, but since then, shinobi went in fours or threes, or sometimes pairs, as he and Takato had done for reconnaissance. Nowadays, there were few five-cell units anymore. He thought perhaps Shodai had foreseen this. Situations changed constantly in the shinobi's world, he knew that well.

Their Kousa rested for a full two days before Dalzen saw him again, looking mostly awake. It was in the evening, the four were reunited. Kano had told them Coushander reverted severely with his sudden instability. The forty-eight hour recuperation his body took, she said she thought, calmed him a little…She was more surprised by the simple fact he _survived_ it.

Dalzen hadn't even said Saru's name like she had, and yet they watched Coushander break before them—snap just like a twig, leaves and all. Tree leaves, though, bud anew as Shodai had told them, so long ago. But Coushander's cancer had been mean, and the man's mind still weak. He didn't not look angry any longer—rather, he was tired of fighting himself, and he looked, in all, sad. Coushander said nothing as the men came in and sat—he looked out the window on the east side and saw the world dark.

"How're you feeling…?"

Dalzen had spoken first.

The deep voice was, in fact deeper than Kousa remembered. He smiled sadly and lowered his hazy eyes. "As if…" he said, very quietly, "…I've died."

Each of them frowned.

"I guess…you…nearly did…" Dalzen solemnly admitted. "You are…better now, though, for it…are you?"

Coushander's head dropped a little. His whole body had been sucked dry of strength. "…'Don't know."

Kano looked at Dalzen and Takato knowingly, the man's apathetic words confirmed her depiction of him. She bit her lip from beside his bed and lowered her gaze. She'd told them…there was still the chance he wouldn't survive. She knew it depended merely on his own will to live.

"Coushander…you know…" Dalzen looked at him, "It's been…twenty-seven years…?"

Coushander would have shaken his head if it hadn't hurt him to do so—he said no, and then he changed his mind; "…Yes…I suppose I do…What…" What he wanted to say was ineffable: it escaped him. He could not describe what he was feeling. He'd done damage to his chest—he knew he wasn't healing properly, nor did he accept the antibiotics any longer. His left arm hurt him, inexplicably to all but hisself and Kano—Keiko; and the pain medication the doctors gave him for it was totally useless. He imagined he was feeling a phantom pain, and beyond that, he didn't care so much. He hadn't expected it, but he could stand it. He was put on oxygen—only for a brief period—and that was a high that only put him to sleep. His situation was a true enigma and wonder—the root of it all…beneath Satsu…toward his heart, and his dreams. The metaphors he suppressed. The signs he consciously ignored. He truly did not know what to say to them other than an instinct. He apologized. "I…guess…you…should know…" he said uneasily, unchanging his gaze, "That…I…am sorry…to you all…It seems…" he recalled, "Everywhere I go…I cause people…grief…and give them trouble…I don't mean…to do it…But it's…happened, that way…and I am sorry," _You can all go now,_ he thought silently. Coushander was used to feeling miserable—he never needed consoling—he never asked for it in all his days.

And yet they were there to give it, damn it all. Until the end, the trio wanted to pursue him like the lost animal he was.

"Kousa…it's been…such a long time…" Dalzen said uneasily. "What you did…was not your fault. It affected you so deep…you were…in a chasm. There's nothing…really…to be sorry for. I understand."

"I…was…in a chasm…of my ravine…" Coushander murmured quietly. _A hidden cove,_ he imagined, with a vast dark ocean he and Saru and dear little Matty had missed in their grand and loud explorations of the over six-foot wide, one-mile long ravine through their land. Filled with frogs and catfish and brown moss in the hazy stream. _God,_ he thought slowly. _I haven't been home since Matty died._

Dalzen smiled, "How do you feel about us, now?"

Slowly, Coushander moved his eyes and looked at him and calm Takato—and there was Kano—Keiko, to his left. The urge to say he 'didn't know' was great, but he overcame it. "…You're…shinobi…" he said. "You are…far, stronger than I," he concluded genuinely.

"But you…were one of us," Takato said.

"No…" the Hatake said quietly. "No."

Dalzen smiled again. "Then who was it that helped take down an Uchiha?"

Coushander looked at him, a little surprised by the comment. "…I don't know…" he said readily. "But it could not…have been me."

Next to him, Keiko was smiling tearfully. "It was," she said quietly, free, for once, to admit it to him without reprisal. "Don't try and convince me otherwise…I still remember,"_ You talked my ear off, _she thought, and nearly cried.

He looked at her. That was why she'd loved him, for who he was. Come to think—the trio knew him for all that he was, and here Coushander drew on his different life he created from whence he returned from that dismal world. He was his father now, with land (and sons) and work, sunrise to sunset, everyday, save Sundays. "…I know…" he said. "…I know."

He drew breath—and exhaled the sterilized cold again uneasily. He felt incredibly weak, and incredibly strange. He'd never gone to this place inside him. And he still felt afraid. The whole hospital experience, namely the last few days, had even humbled him, hugely. He was forced to depend on others to see how he was recovering, and that he _was_. He didn't like it so much, but he would dare not argue, had he had the strength to. He was surprised, though, he saw Kano as often as he did. Rather…everyone called her Keiko…

The ex-shinobi felt dizzy again, in a deep blue haze. He heard a dog barking—or maybe it was a baby crying. And wearily, Coushander closed his eyes.

**.**

Strong as he was before, it meant nothing to him now as it'd faded so easily. He gained more time in the land of the living, in some pain, and spent the time very quietly, thinking about everything he was keeping repressed. It was like opening the same box—watching something different come up from the locked cage each time. And then he remembered the old leather chest he'd kept in the basement, filled with a few objects unnamed for so long—his old katana was there, he thought. And all of Saru's things, including the diary unopened since Matsuko's small hands.

Coushander thought of her final letter.

He whispered aloud and alone (save Jiraiya) he was very sorry to her.

_Let the memories be your strength, not your weakness._

He never understood what that meant until now. The memories, all of them, uneased him hugely. He eyes teared intermittently. He cried, thinking about the deep ravine, when he was just a kid with nothing to do. Matty was there, and his big brother, there, so alive.

Coushander felt so incredibly guilty.

He wanted to keep screaming.

He knew in his heart that he had not been a ninja, if at all. The only medium he could excel at was a total failure, in the end. He hadn't known how to infiltrate properly, he couldn't perform advanced ninjutsu like the others beyond substitution and the like. And Saru…had been too good to him. He'd probably wanted them to wait, but Coushander had been just so eager to be of use, he forced Saru to take him. The younger brother felt horribly, terribly guilty. A guilt so intense that he could feel it vice his heart in terrible anguish. He wasn't sure of himself yet, if he could make it through the next two weeks, let alone another hour of hurting memories.

Kano was there, and Dalzen and Takato, who saw him several times a day (as far as he could remember…). Kano—Keiko was always in and out. There was the child, too, to keep him company. But he was sure the baby had no idea what was going on. And if he did, he'd be there as one more painful reminder.

Coushander quietly confirmed to Dalzen and Takato that the diary was still in his possession, locked away with the other sharp blades. And, he added silently, "Though…the katana…I know…is still dirty…It'd probably break…if anyone dare hold it…"

The sheath, probably, still bore the little bite marks.

It was a slow two weeks, but he was better by the end of it, to his surprise, breathing easier, and suddenly worrying like mad about his bills and his land. Reluctantly, Coushander allowed Dalzen to check for him. The man brought back the blessed slips from his box and Coushander actually took great comfort in paying them.

Yet, alas…he could not re-use the stamp in his usual way, damn the cheap bastards—he inadvertently amused Keiko with the talk, and she obliged.

"…How is that done…?" she wondered with a wry smile. The trio looked at him expectantly.

"…It…is my secret…" he said demurely. "And I cannot tell."

"Perhaps Sakumo might know?" Dalzen asked.

Coushander half-smiled, and sighed. "I hope…he'd never tell…For fear of legal retribution…of course," He swallowed painfully—_Sakumo_. He missed the boy, more than he could say. "Kano—er, Keiko tells me…he's…your…student…"

"Yes…he is," Dalzen said. "I first met him…the day he was dropped off."

Coushander took in the information uneasily. "Then…" he said slowly, "I can't imagine…what you must think of me."

Dalzen considered, looking at his friends and then, slowly, he smiled. "You gave him…what he wanted…But not in the right way," He watched Coushander's head fall over the mailer. "He is…an exceptional student…and shinobi. He's really quite something. Sakumo…is very strong for his age, his stamina still surprises me."

Coushander looked as if he did not enjoy hearing the high marks from the teacher. His open and bare face tensed. "Well…I guess…he didn't get it from me...He got it…" Never had he spoke the two words before; "from…" he drew breath, "his…uncle." The vice he felt tightened his mouth closed in a thin straight line.

Dalzen understood his sorrow. "But, he is your son—the stubbornness…is entirely yours."

Coushander looked up and smiled sadly, then he looked down again at the sheets. "…I…miss him," he admitted before all—namely himself. "I miss him…a great deal." _I was such an idiot—it was _my_ fault,_ he thought silently.

"You can see him, if you want to."

Coushander looked up and shook his head. "No…He can't see me like this, I'm not ready, I can't," he gazed down, "I'm not strong enough."

"All right—all right…"

"But…"

"But we will be gone...Kousa…" Dalzen said seriously. "For a long time…I cannot predict."

"I…understand that. I can wait…If …If it's God's will…I will tell him myself. I…will set it right with him. I will do that…one way or anything, I will, but I can't…I can't face him now. I…don't think I can…talk about…" he hadn't said the words together in twenty-seven years: "…water country. I just can't, not right now," Coushander briefly smiled grimly. "You've all been helpful…but not that helpful…I've…I've still…got…silence, with me," he worded. "I…'been thinking about…so many things, about when we—or I was young, my—my brother...and I…and I can't ever believe I thought I was shinobi material…"

"Ah come on, don't be so hard on yourself—"

"I will be," Coushander looked at him earnestly. "I will be as hard as want to, I will…because it _was_ my fault. No one can change that."

"Oh stop," Kano said. "There's enough guilt in the world to go around without taking more—Don't dare say that again…or I'll…kick you."

Coushander momentarily wanted to laugh. "If anybody's going to…to beat me up…before _I_ do…it should be the child."

Dalzen didn't understand—neither did Takato from their expressions.

"That child…" Coushander believed, looking at the white rails. "Will kill me."

Kano rolled her eyes, smiling oddly.

"…How do you mean?" Dalzen inquired. "With a rattle or something?"

"Sure, if he can beat me hard enough…"

Keiko laughed at him.

Even if he meant it, Kousa joked, and she cherished it.

Dalzen still did not get it.

Coushander grinned, "You ever hear of…the small assassin?"

Dalzen shook his head.

Coushander told him.

It was another old legend he…and his brother had heard…from…_their_ father.

(Dalzen thought he was sick in the mind all over again…)

**.**

It was easier, he found, to think of the memories. Still, daily, he lived with a horrid guilt he would not let go of. They released him confidently after two weeks, and gave him a list of rules, naturally, to heed. His endurance, he admitted, was hindered; standing and walking continued to feel strange to him. He was forbidden to lift heavy objects—he hoped that included the child; it squawked all the way home—he could not walk across the village just yet, so Kano offered he stay her home. And readily, he claimed for himself the couch.

'Jiraiya' was loud and annoying—his father quiet and slow. Kano attended to both of them diligently. But the father watched her with him—holding the child and talking in a soft and gentle voice, displaying all the love and attention his Matty used to when Sakumo first came home. Coushander appreciated Keiko for doing it—he could not bring himself to care much about the child.

He stayed at her home for two days until he finally convinced her to let him go on his own to check his land. She expected him back well before sunset, and did not get her wish. He left early in the morning, and did not return until well into nightfall. "…Sorry," he told her, and was unable to say anything else.

She confined him to bed—a real one, a spare one in the unused front bedroom. It was small—a twin bed was all that would fit. He didn't mind.

What he did take trouble to, was all the trouble she showed him, The trouble of taking care of him. He didn't want it to happen this way, but…as the list and medication reminded him, he had a long ways to go before taking up work, let alone thinking about it.

Dalzen and Takato came by frequently, and he saw them, a couple days after his ordeal. He realized, too, he had not been in touch with Kosaka, and he explained his friendship with the man; accounting for all he did—his land, his home, his different life. His father, too, since Takeshi's way had been his model for the insane idea of buying some land and starting over. As he showed with Kano, he was well-versed (all but the last month) in current affairs. He surprised them again, greatly. It was still in fact the same Coushander they knew once, only a little changed.

"I…" he stopped and shrugged inwardly. He couldn't explain what had made him snap—as perhaps a man does from a dream, but truth was, he did. After years of constant suppression, a moment of perfect weakness refused to let him run from it. He was held in water—strapped in it…but he remembered he hadn't been an only survivor. The trio had already made it. They found their feet again on dry land, while he might struggle just to keep above the water and wood.

He shuddered and felt cold. The transition was unbearable. He spoke out what was necessary to respond to. At times, he caught himself with his admissions and he'd wonder, for a small moment, which one of the three he was talking to, until he realized, they were all looking at him fondly. It was then he did not know what he could say.

There was a sense of emptiness in the room he felt so great it burdened him, his father used to say, an empty barrel made the most noise. He was right. The silence was deafening. He felt uneasy toward himself, as if he'd been inside a chrysalis and now, had not the faintest idea of how to walk out again. The bitterness and hatred and prejudice he could feel no more. Those had been the only things that had propelled him all those years, he did not know to feel anything else. How should he feel towards the people he abandoned? The only thing he could think of to do, was apologize, again…whether they'd want it or not. He would have thought they would.

But they didn't.

The Hatake was quiet when the men left.

So was Kano.

Coushander noticed that though she cared for him, she didn't seem content—he couldn't blame her after all the hell she'd put herself through (to which he largely caused). Jiraiya demanded her attention, mostly, and she handled that with grace. But he apologized to her the next morning and she barked at him, "Oh stop that."

"Ka—Keiko, really, please."

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "You're a mess."

He couldn't argue with that.

"You're still a mess, you need looking after."

"…What's in it for you?"

Her mouth tightened and she whisked away an annoying curl of hair over her forehead. "…Nothing," she said calmly.

Coushander looked away.

"I guess…I have been meaning to ask you…" she admitted gingerly. "Was there…ever…an 'us'?"

Coushander looked back up. "…I will help you support that child."

She sighed with an air of frustration. "I can support him myself. I still have my job—my career. I was asking…about _us_."

"…Oh."

"Did you ever…love me, at all…?"

Her question aimed his heart pointedly.

He could not answer.

She turned her head away quickly as the sadness contorted her face—her disappointment. She nodded her head painfully, expecting the silence. "Well…" her lip quivered, but affected her voice little. "I still do…" _Even though I don't like putting up with this…_she thought. Among other things.

He knew exactly why he could not answer. And it hurt him to see her let down. But he hadn't loved her. It'd been a mistake. One she had carried with her.

**.**

Before the Morino and his team and his son had to leave, Dalzen came by himself about a week later to say goodbye.

"You sure you won't talk to Sakumo?" he asked again.

Coushander shook his head without pause. Briefly, he glanced at Keiko opposite him, sitting with them in the den. Their child was asleep in his room. "I'm not ready. I know…you may be gone for a long time. I can handle it. I can."

Truth was, he was given, in addition to those lists and medications…a sobering reality: there was only a ten percent chance, after his surgery, of living beyond five years. Their mission to water country had been slated six months. It lasted two years. He understood in Dalzen's situation, they'd be gone for at least well over a year—it depended on several circumstances. The Morino had believed it was very likely they would be kept out longer than that.

"…Thank you…" Kousa resumed. "For looking after him."

Dalzen smiled. "I know—after I met him, I wanted to train him."

"No…Really; thank you," he said, looking at him. "Please keep him safe."

Dalzen nodded. "I will," the Morino saw his frame was still he hadn't quite built up his former façade—he had not a wall of fabric to shield his face any longer. "You…take care of yourself, too."

He nodded—glancing at Kano who watched him firmly. "She can see to that…" he said with guilt.

"You…Are you ever going to wear your mask again…?"

"…I was…wearing a mask…?" he thought aloud. Coushander smiled faintly—it was a joke. "No…No…I won't," he said seriously. He smiled sadly to himself. "There's…no point to it now…" _Besides,_ he mused, _everyone saw through it anyway…I could never fool anyone._

"Well…Sakumo is like you then…he doesn't wear his…_entirely_ religiously."

"…Oh?"

"I believe he said, 'A shinobi does not show fear'…? You told him that…?"

"…I did...And…what…it's still true, isn't it…?"

"Well…" Dalzen looked at Kano, "It's one of the ten rules."

"Fifteen," she said. "They added five more, remember?"

"…When was that?"

She grinned. "Oh now that's sad—a sensei should know his material…" she teased him.

"Oh God, I tell you—they change things every year. Half the time, I don't even know who's doing it—and that's frustrating."

"Yes…" Coushander smiled. "I should complain that you're not the ones on the mountainside…is that…Shodai's brother they're doing next…?"

"Oh—yes," Dalzen smiled. "I think Shodaime's likeness took…what, ten years or so…? This one they started about…oh, five years ago."

Coushander's eyes wanted to roll. The last thing he knew of Shodai was of himself, venting his shock at the man, really without reason. Poor man. Coushander should have written an apology to him before he died. But Shodai's younger brother, the current Nidaime, did write Coushander a note, informing him Shijuu Gosen had thought he was a shinobi. Nidai regretted this, and also regretfully, 'de-ranked' an already de-commissioned ninja. The event had amused him in an odd way, mostly because Coushander hadn't cared anymore at that time. Gosen was a fruity man anyway, he constantly tried to get Kosaka away from getting in the local lord's good graces. "It's odd…" Coushander mused. His mind thought back to a certain private realtor, a Mr Stein. "…A few people have thought me to…have been a shinobi."

"…Oh?" Dalzen and Keiko both exchanged glances. "…Like who?"

"Well…" Coushander thought of his issued kunai he'd given away. For a brief moment, he wondered if he could find out where it was. "This…local lord…of some eastern province…" he shrugged. "Gosen, is his name."

"Gosen?" Keiko repeated.

"Gosen the ignorant man of the east…?" Dalzen wondered.

Coushander grinned. "I think that's the one…He's pushing an old Jamestown-maneuver on his province."

"Oh, I know—that's horrible. I heard about that. Takato's been over there more than I have—he told me…oh about a month ago, they were trying to coup him."

"Ha—I hope those people succeed. Socialism would kill my business."

Dalzen was surprised at Coushander knowledge of the subject.

"…What…?" Coushander asked—the man was smiling.

"Nothing…Just…" He shook his head. "I'm just…glad I'm talking to you."

The Hatake felt guilty again. "Well…I…" Still, he had not disclosed the release of his anger. The more he thought about it, the more he wasn't sure why he became so generated towards hatred with ninja. It was the lifestyle—the hardship, in part, he knew, but still. "I…did need to be home…" he said with lament over the actions he took. "I…did…but…You were…you were right—I was…pretty screwed," he said quietly. "I was very screwed. 'Still am," he smiled. "I can't explain…how I feel right now…and I can't explain, what made me snap…it just…happened. I…couldn't keep it down anymore, I guess. You…" he paused. "You…I mean this, I do…you just don't know how…terribly…shocked, I was…just…from…what happened."

"Coushander…" Dalzen said with care. "What…did happen?"

"…Oh…" Coushander felt a well of emotion crest around his heart, not cold, but tepid and shaky—his voice faltered. "I…I can't…" He shook his head in shame. "Oh I can't…" he said painfully. "I…No, no…" he said quietly.

They understood.

"I'm sorry…Not…yet."

"It's all right."

Coushander inhaled and smiled and frowned. "God, what good am I if I can't…" He drew breath again, thinking. "I fought…so _badly_…_God_…" he recalled, and silenced, thinking; _my fault._

Tears were at his deep grey eyes, as they were when he saw his brother.

"It's just…" he said in finality, his voice raw, "How can…all this pain…be from…just one…memory…?"

"…Because…" Dalzen said solemnly, "You…cared, about…your brother."

The answered encompassed the direction he was led toward every time he got lost, like the north star above, pointing down the road home. The answer was the compass that had guided both the brother's actions when they were younger: love.

The man nodded—trying to push down the sob in this throat. "And…" he added, "Because…I fought, very badly…"

Coushander smiled hopelessly, at his faults.

He was taught once to do that.

**.**


	24. The Girl I Left Behind Me

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 24  
_**The Girl I Left Behind Me**_

**.**

**.**

It was seven fifty-five in the morning.

"…And now for the daily song this March fourteenth, let's go all the way back in time forty years exactly for this one—a little tune called…"

He never used to listen beyond eight in the morning, but he did today. Forty years? He'd have been nine years old. The short clip of the song began to play, and he nodded his head—father would have sung this one. It sounded familiar.

A little reluctantly, he turned it off at five past eight and did some easy work in the field, coming back in before eleven. He put away some more store and returned to the porch to wait for Kano. He switched the radio on again and listened to the local programming. It was all talk. Matty used to have it on when he came in for lunch.

Keiko came around at eleven-thirty with the baby in her arms. "…Hey; have you got it set up?"

"…Yeah—I did it yesterday."

He led her inside and into the middle bedroom on the right side. There was an old oak crib set in the center of the small room. Clean white sheets padded the interior, and she laid the child there. He was napping, for the most part—she said again he'd been awake most of the night.

"…You ready?"

"…Um, oh, yeah…"

They went back to the back door and went down the steps off the landing to go down into the grey basement.

There, the old chest, atop the two short two-by-fours, waited to be opened.

He was reluctant to give her the key off the top of the door frame—she gave him a strange look.

"…You do it," he said anxiously.

"…Fine," she said, and turned around and knelt on a taupe mat. He backed off and sat in a wicker chair meant for the porch. She inserted the key and the lock clicked open. She removed it, and opened up the lid…

Nothing rose up save the dark underside—showing the dark wood as the lid leaned back on the hinge, stopping like an ominous sign for the contents below: 'here lies death', it creaked, as the hinge settled for the first time in years.

His head turned a little and he shifted uneasily in the chair. He wondered what she'd pick out to stab him with first. Coushander held his breath.

Keiko looked inside for a long moment, slowly recognizing every lost piece of history. The two katana laid along one side, one black, one white—she guessed the white one had been Saru's, though she'd never seen him with it. She saw an old green-striped scroll marked 'kaeru' in the shadow of the right corner, along with a brown book and a black one. She saw a black kunai, etched with Saru's name, an old broken compass pointing east, a Konohamaru headband shining, and beside it, a shining silver pentagon.

She picked it up and held it before her eyes.

He flinched, whatever she held was small and bright. And yet the presence of it stung him greatly like all the larger and more lethal objects that rested below. It didn't dawn on him exactly what it was until she flattened her palm and looked at it's smooth gray surface.

She looked again into the chest and carefully moved some of the contents. "…Where's yours…?" she asked.

"I…" he turned his face away to the wall. "…threw mine…out."

She stared at him: her mouth opened. "You _what?!"_

He continued his gaze.

She stood up. "You…bastard!" Keiko said without thinking. Her anger faded as soon as it'd come. "Where in the world did you…throw it at?!"

He glanced at her. "At Konohamaru's commemoration post. Right as I left."

"…Uh…!" Her shock turned to disgusted tears. "You…!" She didn't know what to say to scold him near enough. She looked at the silver medal again and felt like throwing it at_ him_. Instead, she cupped it and laid it back in the bottom of the chest, kneeling back down, "…You're really something," she muttered, giving away her sadness and disdain.

Coushander didn't wish to sit there any longer…but he figured he deserved the beating from her, so he stayed still.

She reached for the black book and held it carefully as she sat on the mat, Indian-style. Keiko stared at the cover for a while—even though it'd been in the chest for so long, it seemed to retain that scent of air of ocean and breeze. Tears welled in her eyes when she opened the cover.

She decided she couldn't read any of it—her wet eyes wouldn't let her. The pages were sturdy until the very end, where the handwriting changed to a slightly smaller one—equally as compact, thought more refined and precise.

The writing was Dalzen's, she knew. She couldn't read it either.

She closed the slim journal and inhaled sharply. Kano wiped her eyes and looked at the man: his head still turned away. She smiled half-heartedly, "What to see it?"

He shook his head.

She figured as much, so she returned it to the chest. Keiko longed to feel the hilt and sheath of the blade, but the brown book she did not recognize. It was half the size of the black one, leather, the color of a brown chestnut. She took it out and Coushander startled her by standing suddenly, "Don't open that."

It almost seemed like an automated response to some infrangible law.

He caught himself after a moment and apologized without feeling. "Sorry…go ahead…You don't need me."

"But—"

He defeated the purpose of her coming by giving her the key, and then, with leaving.

But she stayed down there for a while, soaking in the memories like watching the waves crest and roll on shore south of Mine and north of Satsumasendai.

He watched Jiraiya for a minute when he came back up and then went in his room and sighed. The middle room and his own were connected—he left the door open and leaned on the low cabinet, trying not to think about what was in that small brown book.

When she came back up, she stood in his main doorway, holding the brown book.

He flinched and stepped back, looking as if it were causing him pain.

"…You know what this is?" she asked.

He bit his lip before saying, "…Of course I do, that's why I can't…"

She smiled strangely. "…It's not going to hurt you."

He looked at her, and then at the floor.

She sighed. "Shall I set it on your dresser? To let you get a feel for it's presence?"

"It'll kill me."

"Oh you think everything will kill you."

"…Maybe so…But I'm usually right in that respect."

"…I know you are…But this is a _book_. And…I never saw Saru have it with him."

"He…left it behind…that time. Said he…couldn't risk it. He left it, with Shodaime—in his care."

Kano took in the information and sighed again slowly, looking at it's cover. It was pure leather, and carved about the edges with a simple frame design. A Senju had given it to Saru—the legendary Senju, Karada.

She moved to her left and laid it atop the dresser at her waist, and walked to her right toward the other door to check on their son.

He eyed the book in suspicion.

It did not move.

Coushander left to fix something out of the sparse in his cabinets in the kitchen. He found a soup can and set to work. He'd thrown quite a few things out when he first came back. He had little left in the refrigerator save the fruits he moved into it yesterday from the freezer. Coushander began to pray for a good yield this year to make any kind of a profit just to continue getting by. He knew he'd have to leave Kano and the child with something (whether she wanted it or not)—in addition to Sakumo. And when he thought about Sakumo, he returned his attention intently to what he was doing.

And Kano came in and asked him, with a good concern in her eyes, "…You going to go back down there?"

He stirred the contents in the metal pan. His lip tightened.

She signed, reposing her palms on the counter opposite. "Coushander…" she said pointedly. "…You need to."

"…I know."

"'Knowing' isn't enough. 'Knowing' isn't going to let you communicate it to your son. You need to see these things."

Her words were true. "I…know," he said again.

Suddenly, she smiled. "I can only go so far…I can't force you down there."

"Actually, I'm sure you could," he told her, "And it might be the only way…to do it."

She shrugged.

He looked down. It was his time to sigh.

After lunch, he let himself go back down the stairs.

The chest was closed, but the lock still void from it.

"You do it," she said.

"I can't."

His knees were locked.

"…It's not your fault; just look at them. It's ok."

"I…can't."

A part of her felt like crying, and another part wanted to kick his knees. "If not now…_when_," she said forcefully.

His throat closed momentarily as he looked at it in the room.

"When will you do it? A year? Two years? You can't let it sit there. Please just try."

He turned his head away. Stiffly, he took a few slow steps…toward the open door frame—he laid his forehead and palm on the frame. She watched him fight it there, as if he turned away from a threat by ghost. She watched his right hand come up and cover part of his face.

She looked around and collapsed herself in the wicker chair and waited, watching him with pity in her eyes.

He soon looked up and swallowed—dropping his hands. "…I'm sorry," he said, without looking at her. He felt as if he were trapped somewhere: he couldn't move. He could not go forward, nor backward. "…What can I do with that stuff anyway…" he began to bargain dryly. "I…know, what it looks like."

She thought about it. She thought about how he'd feel, as she did, swelling with the emotion of the familiar finds.

"Well…Kousa…you have already seen the hardest things," she granted.

He eyed her. "…What…?"

She swallowed. "…Me. Dalzen. Takato. What are things…compared to seeing us?"

For a moment, her words justified a deep strength inside of him. It faded as he looked at the long chest. He breathed slowly. "…Yeah…" he agreed with her. "But…"

"But…what."

He half-rolled his eyes and looked away.

She thought maybe she almost had him. And since he may have felt inclined, she had to continue to assume he did want to pass this hurdle. She got up and stood next to the chest. Keiko knelt down and laid her hand on the edge of the dark, faded maroon-brown color lid. He flinched, but she didn't open it. "What're you…"

She looked into his eyes, her left hand resting there on the edge of that lid. "What are things…compared to what all you've been through lately."

He felt torn where he stood.

And then she opened the top with care, letting it lean back idly.

He retreated a few steps back, putting him nearly against the door frame. He knew her eyes were on him, and his own were drawn like magnets to look at the deep shadow within. It became light. There was the wood on the inside as he always knew. He could just see the tip of something black and something white—they were narrow, and knew exactly what they were. He stood there, and remembered to breathe.

"Coushander, come here…It's just stuff."

It was as she said, but the memories attached to those objects made him want to run out the door and up and out again into his field, and continue running until he came to his fence. And even then, he'd climb over it and keep going. Gravity kept him from doing it. It swayed him in a different position. It leaned him a small step forward, and then after that, another small move forward. The bottom end of his dark sheath reflected tiny bite marks. He knew they were bite marks, because there was a small grey dog that used to hang about his side—nipping at that sheath…and sometimes, his ankles. "Oh…God," he said, looking at it. It was still all he could see. Quickly, he shut his eyes and felt hot.

"It's…all right…" she said gently.

He opened his eyes—for a split-second, she reminded him of Matsuko. He thought, for a half of a second, Matty had spoken, Matty had been there beside the chest. He shuddered and turned around.

And he walked out the door.

_"Kousa…!"_

He stopped. He was thinking about Matsuko's letter:

_Let the memories be your strength…  
__I am sure all your old shinobi friends miss you.  
__I know it'll be so hard, but find strength…you always have, and you always will. I've loved you for that, and all that's made you…_

Into what you were, he thought. A shinobi. A ninja. And those were tools—weapons and misery, sadness and sorrow. They were instruments that he fought with—the ones that killed his brother. There was the medal that was Saru's, and not his. He hadn't consciously deemed his, worthy of keeping. He despised those symbols—because all it meant was a never-ending pain. All of it was pain. How could he have rejoiced in it once? When had the fights held meaning? When had he had the fire, the gusto, the savvy and will in him? _What could it all have been for?_

He didn't know; he partially turned.

"…What…" he wanted to know, "was it for?"

She thought.

He expected an answer.

She thought about their Shodaime's words over his command. She looked at the black book on the right hand side.

"For…Sakumo…For your boy. For…our boy…For…their progeny, and so on."

He hadn't thought of that.

"…For…That's it?" he wondered. "Them?"

She nodded slowly.

"But…Haruda…had nothing to do…" he thought. "Razumo…and…Wolf…they were…over there…it was…pointless, it had no—"

She shook her head. "It did have relevance…more that you might remember. It had…a lot of relevance…to _us_. You brother chose…an interesting lot," she smiled, "to say the least…And he knew…what we needed. He knew, he could help us in some way…he knew it. We've all been friends forever for it…You can't deny that…And I know…what you saw that last day…was horrible…But we saw it too," she teared in her conviction, "And we grieved and regretted too, and we still live with the pain. We lived with the pain of losing…_both_ of you."

Her words affected him with a tight ball of emotion wound up in his throat.

After a quiet moment, he walked forward very slowly…and looked inside.

The cavern was shallow and clean, the blades three, and the objects still and ordinary, just as he.

Every second hence, it got a little easier.

They said nothing until she quietly asked him, as he was beside her, kneeling, looking at Saru's kunai at the bottom of the chest, "…Where's yours?"

He swallowed. "…I gave it away…" he murmured.

She stared wide, disbelieving, "…What? To who?!"

"…A realtor…and…blade collector…"

Nothing else was said as he stared down at the carving:

_Saru-Shin._

**.**

Coushander brought the brown leather book back to her house so she could keep it with her. He carried it, but still chose not to open it. It belonged to him now, but for some reason, he didn't want to leave it home. He still stayed with her, keeping the spare room occupied. He also brought back what fresh things he had from the garden.

He was quiet the next few days, thinking about what he'd seen.

**.**

_'Here is my honor; here is my truth,  
__Here is my sorrow,  
__Here, is all that matters.'_

It was a haiku, by a lunatic. His own clan had called him that because no one had ever passed through the grand storm cloud ravine alone, and unscathed.

His brothers and his sons had feared when he took a team to the only living hell in the world to rescue two daughters, and return them safely to their families. His actions would have resulted in a deadly war had he not killed the twisted man in charge, and all his closest men.

That was Karada, Saru recalled. "And I was scared—but when I saw the looks on those girls' faces…I knew exactly what it was for. I wasn't afraid to get caught and die. I was ready to fight—'usque ad finem'."

_Usque ad finem._

It mean, 'until the end'.

And the unrest reversed itself with the strong will of the people, and a lack of war resulted. The twisted men, what was left of them, held back, and planned.

Coushander signed on.

And it was so grand. It was bigger than he—bigger than their small and quiet ravine and trees, bigger than his father's land, bigger than Rikue's. It was the world, and Coushander saw it well.

And his older brother told him one night, Karada was tracking one of those disturbed men, and this man, through a terrible jutsu, was able to quell the captain's fire forever. "I got there…too late," Saru said with pain deep in his dark eyes. "I saw him…he looked at me…and whispered those three words…And then he said…'Carry on, Saru—My time, is done.'"

Saru said he cried.

**.**

"…Hello, and I hope your day is going well for you, wherever you might be…"

Coushander moved the dial up minutely to clear the static.

"It's been twenty-nine days since we've had a single drop of rain. Really, everything's been generally growing…rather slow these past two months. It's sixty-seven right now in the village—sixty-eight if you're closer to Nobu, and it's just sixty coming in off the shore at Yamahara. Sixty-eight also here around Tanzaku. Overnight lows ranging in the sixties, Yamahara on the east coast had a brisk fifty-degree start this morning. We're warming up nicely today, enjoy that sunshine. If you've got things to clean up around the yard, today would certainly be the day. The clouds are moving out with that high pressure system—and it looks like the next chance of rain won't be for a while yet, and we've had some trouble for soybean growers with the…"

Coushander smiled wryly.

The man continued to talk, and Coushander thought more seriously on the date. March nineteen happened to be his brother's birthday. He was turning twenty-seven, again, for the twenty-seventh year straight.

Coushander switched the radio off after twenty minutes, and lamented.

He went to work, and came back to Keiko's, promptly, before sunset.

She'd been a little easier towards him, since he was able to look at what had been in the old chest. The woman didn't seem content, but a little more so in result of it. She talked to him more freely, talking about her years as shinobi in the med station. She talked about Dalzen and Takato, and a couple of their ventures and lives—and she mentioned her dogs and Hairo. "I feel bad though," she said fondly, "I haven't used them in quite some time. Hairo's grown, though…He's not so…well, yes, he's still insane, but he can hold his own with the rest of them now. I think he's missed not having something to attack. He's never bitten anyone's sheath since yours. Not one."

"Oh…" Coushander smiled. "I feel…so honored."

She smiled like he hadn't seen her do since she first saw him.

Coushander never had any 'summons' as they were like Keiko or Saru had. Only the sword. He thought about his katana now, untouched in the old chest. Not since Haruda. Not since that day.

"…What's wrong?"

"Nothing…Just…thinking…"

She cocked her head. "It might do you good not to, once in a while."

He smiled, "I know. It's just…everything's come back…so fast."

"Well…I can't imagine hating it for twenty-seven years…"

"But…you were young, you didn't—"

"I changed. Maybe you never got to see that in me, but I got stronger. I healed you—well, partly, when we found you. You have no idea what I had to overcome to do that. You were…" She could still see the blood. "…Very bad," she finished with a slight recoil of her head.

"But, all I remember…"

She looked at him, "…What…?"

"Is…" He shook his head and rose from the chair. "…Nevermind—nothing," he said as if he couldn't remember.

"We saw him too."

"Oh—" He looked at her with a sudden hardness in his eyes. "…Even so," he caught himself, "He was not your brother. It wasn't your fight—"

"He was our captain, our greatest friend—he meant something to everybody, Coushander, don't ever deny us that. It was our fight…our worth…It changed us, just as much as it changed you. He meant something to Shodai…I should show you something."

He eyed her strangely.

She stood. "We'll take a walk."

**.**

"Where…are we going…?" he asked again.

He began to get nervous as they walked in the calm blue night across the inner of the village, the heart and soul, very close to the hokage's tower.

"You'll see," she said, holding Jiraiya, wrapped in a small blue blanket.

She led him across a small lawn on the northwestern side, the mountainside looming near. It looked to him as if there were a series of training fields—either that or the environmentalists were up to something. But then he saw a sign marked for that purpose, and it told the three squares. But Keiko led him to the south west side and finally, they came to a rectangle—a marble grey one protruding from the ground—a wooden shrine encasing it, and another shrine yards south of it. The first shrine homed the grey rectangle stone, surrounded by trees, one of which, a weeping cherry with a few small pink buds. She led him to it and on the top of the stone showed the Senju family crest, as in the war days, decorated on either side with a relief of arrows and an olive branch. Underneath the crest, before the names, was a brief poem:

_Passenger, if thou art a Soldier,  
__remember the distinguished and gallant  
__services rendered the Country by the Patriot.  
__whose name has been carved here:_

Coushander looked closer and saw the names were all those of Senju. Senju Yoshie, Senju Hiroyuki, Senju Daisuke…He took in the large stone as a whole. There were five columns of names, about fourteen of them as a row. "Wow…that's…a lot of them…" He glanced at her sadly, "…So?"

"They're not all Senju, some of them are different. Look in the third row, about half-way, towards the top."

He exhaled quietly and bowed his head to look down the column:

_Senju Hiromaru_

_Senju Shouhei_

_Yamanoi Sanae_

_Senju Satoshi_

_Senju Norimitsu_

_Senju Koichi_

_Ryouma Saru-Shin_

_Senju…_

Coushander blinked.

_Ryouma Saru-Shin_

He looked at the carving in disbelief, hiragana, then katakana.

He stared.

_Ryouma…Saru-Shin…_

Coushander's voice withheld deep inside his heart; _God…Saru…you name…Your name…That…name…_

Kano cleared her throat. "Dalzen first noticed it…He was with Chinatsu, walking here, years ago."

Coushander couldn't believe it.

He looked up, all around the wooden shrine, and then back to the third column, six names down.

_Ryouma Saru-Shin._

"We didn't know…that was his real name."

Coushander turned his head away in emotion, and then back. His brother's name was there, on a Senju's memorial. "Who…" his voice was light.

"Shodai. It was…Shodai's doing…along with the elder Senju. Senju Karada…his name is here, also."

He turned away, forcing himself not to break down.

…_remember the distinguished and gallant  
__services rendered the Country by the Patriot…_

Kousa looked up at the stars coming out from the sun's snare, somewhere up there. He shut his eyes in that moment and hung his head. "Ryou…" he murmured to himself. "That's…" he spoke more directly. "That was his name…And that's…what he said his name was…when he joined up, in case…" Coushander fought hard. "In case…I…ever followed him."

Kano reached out with her left arm and took his right hand. She felt his sense of loss—it emanated from the stone, and from him.

He could not say anything. He stared at the ground.

_Hatake Ryouma._

_…Saru-Shin._

**.**

He laid awake.

And he got damn-well tired of it, and got up and walked around silently, and aimlessly. Jiraiya began to cry, and instantly, he went into the infant's room and picked him up to save Kano the trouble. The baby did not need changing, nor did he seem hungry. Coushander knew well enough from the experience of his Sakumo that infants did not need a reason. He knew they could cry their lungs out o'er some small discrepancy in their being, crying, just to be soothed.

Coushander carefully sat in the rocker chair with the child and still, it wailed. "Shush…" the man tried. "Be quiet, now…" The words he spoke softly did not work, so he thought of what he could do other than more drastic means…

Keiko would sing.

He'd usually plug his ears, and the by the time he stopped, by then, the baby had as well. Matsuko did it also—he plugged his ears then, too. It was a practical miracle cure by the women he knew in his life, but with the death of his shinobi days, came the death of song.

It reminded him too much of Saru.

But, it seemed, an only remedy to try.

He patted the blanket as the child cried out and thought desperately to save his ears from bleeding. Nothing came to mind. He looked up and thought. "Oh…shush, please, I'm trying…" he murmured.

Jiraiya cried.

Coushander looked down, and finally, something came into his mind, and he took it, without knowing where it would lead, "My love…" he said, and changed the tone of his voice. "…My love, has left me…" he lilted quietly, "with…bairnes 'twa…And that's…the last of him, I ever saw…

"He joined the army…and marched to war…

"He took the shilling…" Coushander remembered, "He took the shilling, and he's off to war…"

Jiraiya stopped wailing, but still fidgeted tenaciously in his arms.

"He…He looked so fine, as he marched along…"

Coushander looked up, and stopped—he saw the boy's mother in her navy yukata, standing in the door way, a soft smile across her face.

Jiraiya suddenly wailed.

It startled Coushander, and he didn't know what to do. Having suddenly lost his voice, he rose slowly and he passed the boy off to her. She assessed him and settled in the rocker, speaking softly to the boy. Coushander stood there and watched her. She looked down, and in a quiet singing voice, sang,

"Well the seasons come, and the seasons go, and the reasons you left, I guess I'll never know…"

His eyes widened—he knew that song, too. He couldn't immediately remember the title, but he mouthed the words as she sang, "There will be others, yes, I know it's true…But they won't do you, like I did for you; my love will not change, my love will not change…"

He stopped mouthing the words as she sang, "It just rolls like a river to the sea of your name…"

_My love will not change, my love will not change; it's as steady as the rhythm of the pouring rain…_his mind finished with her. He stared at her in shock, "Where'd…you…learn that?"

"The same way you learned the one that you sang, just now," she looked at him.

The infant was silent in her arms, clutching her yukata.

"You…"

"Yours was beautiful—what was it?"

"…Huh? Oh…uh," he thought. "The…King's Shilling…" he said quietly. "The…second version…or…would it have been the first one…Er…it wasn't the one with…Daniel."

"…Do you remember the rest?" she smiled.

He saw the baby was relatively calm and looked down. He was about to say 'no', when he suddenly remembered one of the last lines of the song,

_And the shilling didn't seem…The shilling didn't seem much worth the war…_

He shook his head silently and returned to his room.

He fought a long time before he slept.

**.**

"Do you know what you do?" she asked him the next morning.

He looked down at his glass of water. "I…cause trouble?"

"No, you take one little step forward, and then two steps back, that's all it is."

The brown leather book was on the kitchen counter. It was to Coushander's right.

She sat opposite him. "I like your voice."

"Oh…fah…" He furrowed his brow. "I sound like a cat when it's tail is pulled…"

"Ridiculous," she said. "Entirely without ground. The baby thought it was pretty, and so did I."

"Ah…but you may have_ told_ him to think that. I can't rely on you if want to believe in me, when I'm the most hopeless cause there is."

"The first one in there, is 'The Black Sheep'."

"Lunatic."

"…Hm…?"

He looked down from her surprised caught-you stare, and he sadly stared at the glass and regretted the impromptu word.

"…What?"

Coushander glanced at the simple brown cover. He remembered a low and sad voice singing, _Don't be angry, with me, son, I know I drove you from my door…_

"…What is it?"

"It was…my father's song…Saru's song…and father's…They never ever saw eye to eye. Saru…he used to hate fieldwork. He always wondered…what else…was out there, you know."

"…And that's why…it's there, first?"

"God, he…" Coushander was remembering things he'd carried like stapled cargo aboard a rickety ship. "…Wanted…to write them all. Every single…'forgotten' tune. Everything. So…nobody…would forget."

"Well…I confess—I don't even know how most of those are sung, or where they came from. A lot of them seem very old to me, like, 'The Mountain'."

Coushander's eyes widened: "'The Mountain'?!" he exclaimed. "Oh, my God!"

He reached for the book and flipped it open: _The Black Sheep, The King's Shilling,_ both versions, and then, there on the fourth page was his father's favorite. "My God…" he scanned the words. "My God…it was…father's favorite…and…" Saru had written his father's little personal addition he'd sing after he annoyed them all. "Oh…_damn…"_

She smiled. For a moment, it was suddenly like watching a young boy, Christmas morning. Coushander's awe was silent. He could hear his father's voice in his ear, _I was born on this mountain, a long time ago…_

Takeshi was never able to return there, to his original home. His health had failed him, and with both sons gone, there was no one left in the household but him. Coushander blamed himself for his father's death—Takeshi had let him go, but Coushander realized it'd been a choice—the shinobi world, or the field. The son had always thought he'd be back to help his father…but the man's heart had already broken enough for one lifetime. Around six or seven months before their mission to water country, Takeshi left them forever. The brothers came home, and Coushander remembered crying in excess. Saru, too, took it extremely hard, and spent a lot of time in private, down along the ravine hill.

_There's a chill in the air, only miner's can feel, and there's ghosts in the tunnels, that the company sealed…_

"'The Mountain'…" Coushander said again in awe.

"Your father…really was a miner?"

"To the core," Kousa read his father's words, written neatly by his brother,

_It broke my heart, to bury my ax,  
__But I live, with the hope, that someday I'll be back…_

"God…" Coushander looked at the next page: 'The Girl I Left Behind Me'.

Coushander smiled. He could remember without even reading,

_Oh ne'er shall I forget the night…_

**.**

Kano met Kosaka and Misao that day—the man was overjoyed (that after a brief letter) his friend was looking rather well. The couple saw the baby, and Coushander saw something laying on the kitchen counter. "My God…" he suddenly said, "The world…is ending."

The trio of adult eyes looked at him.

"I leave for…a couple months, and it all goes to hell," he sighed. "Oh Kosaka, what have you done?"

He was referring to the soybean packet.

"Now wait just a minute, you…!"

Coushander smiled.

"There's no hurt in trying, I've got the extra space, what's wrong with that!"

"Principle."

Kosaka guffawed. "Well _you_ invented that—it's my land, my use!"

Coushander laughed.

Kosaka was extremely happy to see the man his usual self.

The two stayed a while, and then returned home.

And as all things go, he noticed one more thing about her as she tended to the child: her head was always low, and never high. He supposed his was, too—probably for a far longer time than hers. Her only trouble came, after all, was when she met him. But as Kosaka unspokenly reminded him that day, Coushander felt obligated, as a man with a sense of his honor still left in him somewhere, to set it straight with her.

**.**

It was April seventh, and they were in wind country—along the border, far north of county fourteen. His students (and himself) were taking a break from patrolling. A wind shinobi was learning them the local flora there, as for medicines and aloe. Dalzen was sitting outside in the shade—he had to report to a building on the west side in an hour for an interrogation. It seemed that sort of business followed him now, diligently, wherever he went. He was better at it than any other leaf shinobi, and requests came in from wind—specifically for him. The head ninja back home tired relentlessly to pin him down to the Intel division, but he refused it, saying he had but one duty left to do before settling down, and that was being a sensei. It was a convenient excuse, to say the least. Mind scans were not something he enjoyed doing on a regular basis—no one else in the business did either, but, it had to be done.

He watched a couple sand ninja, with their beige-color vests walk along the dirt road. He saw a green vest come next, and knew instantly it was a leaf shinobi.

The leaf ninja stopped, and turned off the road towards the building. Green vest, light-color hair…still a young face—Dalzen stood and was surprised: it was Ichida Takato.

"…Oi!" he smiled cheerfully, and stopped before his teammate.

"Hey...what're you doing here?"

"News to report!" Takato said, grinning. Suddenly, he looked around casually. "…Where are your students?"

"Oh, inside, learning about medicines, I'm sure."

"Oh, ok…" Takato still wanted to pull him aside away from the building.

"…What's this about?" Dalzen asked him curiously.

Takato smiled and he said quietly, "…They're married."

Dalzen did not, at first, understand.

"They were married—I was there—the fifth of April."

"What…?"

"Hatake Coushander…and Kano Hoseki."

Dalzen slowly smiled. "Well…" he thought of them back in the village. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there…they…married? How are they?"

"Good…Good—they're well."

"And Kousa?"

Takato nodded. "Yes, he's well—and he looks that way, too."

"Well…" Dalzen took it in, thinking about them. "They're…happy with each other?"

Again, his friend nodded. "Coushander told me…aside from her—it was the right thing to do, and he wanted to do it. He wanted to make her happy—and she is, now. She was very happy."

Dalzen grinned. "Hatake…Hoseki?"

"Oh her name is quite long now…" Takato smiled. "His friend was there as witness—Kosaka and his wife, and me…and Hina was there for Keiko."

"That's good," Dalzen nodded, smiling oddly.

Takato looked off to his right, and motioned his head.

Dalzen looked aside and saw his students coming out of the brick building. The three stopped with the wind sensei, Sakumo waved.

Dalzen smiled again, wondering how he could contain his joy.

"It's gotta be hard keeping it from him," Takato said intuitively, keeping his voice low.

"You have no idea," Dalzen returned the tone. "He's missing so much…for all the wrong reasons. He knows his father is keeping things from him, and he cannot accept what Kousa has been doing…" Dalzen looked at Takato. "The one thing that worried me was, that Sakumo wanted this—or rather, he didn't mind. I think he wanted to leave what he realized he could not accept. He's acted very differently this past week, I know there's been a change. He won't admit it, he won't say anything. Heck, I think he even enjoyed Hideki's company, and Murasaki's, too. He's been trying to take on a variety of things, ideas…I worry about it, but...I will continue the silence—I respect that. I believe Coushander will tell him himself, as he said…I just don't know when that time will come. I know he couldn't tell him the truth yet—I suspect he still cant…?"

"He didn't mention it to me—he only asked if I knew where you all were. Keiko told me though that he's been able to look at his old things—his blade…and the diary."

"…He has? He still has it?!"

Takato smiled. "Yes—she said in a big old chest, in his basement. Locked."

"Amazing…" Dalzen murmured in awe. "That diary…I'd like to see that again," He hadn't seen it in twenty-seven years. He was amazed, too, Coushander still had his blade—he wouldn't mind seeing that again, either.

"It's been slow progress, she told me, though," Takato said.

"…I bet…" Dalzen murmured. "So," he said, "Can you stay long?"

"Can't," he frowned. "Have to be in Nobu this evening to meet up with Sarin's cell."

"Oh—well then you should get going—Sarin's a stiff one."

Takato grinned, "I know."

"…You won't give him a break, will you…?"

"Mm…" he gave a noncommittal noise. "Well, I'll come back when I'm done."

"Thanks."

"And I'll tell you what Coushander threw out."

"…What?!"

"You don't want to know—but I'll tell you…in a week or so."

"Oh you…"

Takato trotted off on him, "Take care!"

"Yeah…you too…" Dalzen smiled sadly, _What'd you do, Coushander…?_ Dalzen shook his head, thinking.

Takato's daughter asked if she could continue with the sand sensei in the arboretum. Kousa's son wondered if he could go with Dalzen to the ward. Harou's son was quiet, and shy, but looked up to Sakumo in wonder.

Dalzen smiled. At least…they were learning in the right way.

**.**

"Sensei…" Sakumo asked him before he slept. "…What did Ichida-san say, really…?"

A marriage came into his mind. He looked down at the boy standing there and wanted to tell him. Instead, he smiled cleverly and said, "Parents are always concerned for their children, Sakumo. It's instinct. Now, goodnight."

Sakumo frowned and thought of his teammate, a little older than he. Sakumo knew her father—he and Dalzen were close. The boy envied her—her father supported her dreams. Dura, too, was fortunate in that sense. Therefore, Sakumo dismally disagreed with what his captain said, in his case.

His father had taken no time at all in forgetting him.

A recent thought once crossed his mind that maybe his father started over so he could have a good son, who would never wish to be shinobi. One who would follow him in the ways of the field, forever, alone, on that little piece of land.

And still, Sakumo missed the love and the jackknife he'd been given…and so many other memories.

The confusion caused the boy tears. He hid them as best he could.

A shinobi…does not show fear.

**.**

The homecoming let Coushander grieve. In full.

The month of April marked the twenty-seven years, to the point.

He and Keiko walked down the road, his road, and he appreciated the old poplars, clapping gently in the breeze. He showed her the irises—young things not yet with buds. He showed her the sign, Hatake/Mihure.

But both of Matty's parents were gone now, and that made the trip that much more mournful. It reminded him everything in his life had been taken away from him. The sanity, the stability he found with Ezekiel, the happiness with Matty—Sakumo, Zosha…Saru-Shin. He'd been given grief early in his life with his mother and then his father, he did not wish it anymore. Not to him, and not to Kano.

And still…she'd said yes…

They left the child that day in Chinatsu's care.

He led her down the old path and showed her his home, vacant. The field, bare. The Mihure's—where Rikue's older brother had taken up, was there, and his field's were varied and sparse. Takuma had moved on after Rikue passed—he'd bought land further south, the very last he heard. The Hatake had a sick debate in his heart whether or not to sell the place. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he despised thinking about it. The very thought brought tears to his eyes.

He led her before the bridge, and looked south and north. "There," he said. "Is our ravine."

It was much smaller and shallower than she'd thought, but beautiful, nonetheless, in a romantic, exaggerated way. Moss colored most of the water of the six-foot wide creek, brown. There were cattails and catfish, and tall weeds, thistles, and small flowers at the basin beneath the steep sides. And she watched her husband's face narrow in emotion. He turned away and looked into the forest. "…The graves," he said, "Are inside there…They're all there."

"Please," she said, "I'd like to see them."

Together they walked into the forest. He led her straight in, about fifteen yards. And there, was the circle-like clearing.

She saw six small and short, grey-colored stones.

Coushander let her read to herself, each of the stones.

_Hatake Ryouma Saru-Shin, Hatake Takeshi, Hatake Sayoe_, the Mihure's on the right, and Matty to the left, near Sayoe.

Keiko knelt first before Saru's grave.

_Hatake Ryouma Saru-Shin,_ she read,  
_Beloved Son And Brother  
__Rest With Honor And Peace._

She smiled faintly, thinking about him. She prayed silently on the simple epitaph, he was content. She saw Matsuko's grave two spaces on the right, slightly underneath Sayoe. Kano could read Matsuko's inscription below her name,

_Beloved Daughter, Friend, Wife, and Mother  
__No Words can attempt to convey the  
__Gentleness, sincerity, and grace of this girl._

After a while, Keiko stood back up and looked at him—Coushander was hovering there, still as one of the trees around them. He seemed to sigh as the wind carried a few leaves. "…Could I…" he said slowly, "…Have a minute…?"

She nodded. She started walked and looked behind her—he'd thought he'd be with Matty, but she watched him slowly turn left after a moment…not to his mother or father, but all the way to the end, before his brother. She waited and she saw him kneel.

Coushander stared at his name.

He began to cry before he could get the words out:

"Saru…" he murmured—looking at the grass around him and weeping. "…Saru…I am so sorry," he said. He shook his head for no reason and breathed through his mouth. "I'm so sorry, please…I beg you'd forgive me. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry…you did, what you did. If I could change it…I'd die instead, " his voice whispered. "If I could change it…I'd have been better…I'd have tried harder…I'd have not been so…Please, forgive me…" He shook his head again. "I'm sorry…for being angry. For…being a fool, and an idiot…for…being bitter. I'm sorry, I…" The man shut his eyes and breathed. He opened them again and read Rikue's words for Saru: _Rest With Honor And Peace._ Kousa echoed the sentiment in his mind, as he could not speak it. "I'm sorry…" he murmured again after a moment. "…I forgot…And…" It too all his fiber to say it, but he did…: "I miss you—I have missed you…I miss…what we were…before you went away. I wish…" he closed his eyes and imagined, "…One of those days…might come back." Coushander stopped and touched his forehead, feeling an immense depression and rift in his heart and soul, like the cliff over the river…

_You scarified too much,_ he thought to himself. _You were so brave… and so reckless…but with so much duty and conviction in you…_He smiled sadly. _You were…the Monkey King…only with a heart, and…Karada's student…._

_And…you were…my brother._

Coushander fought his sob and tears.

Keiko came next to him, and gently held his shoulder.

**.**

The years went by.

Coushander grew to love the woman he left behind him all those years ago in the village, and he appreciated, with enormous depth, the continued fortitude Keiko showed in standing beside him. And he felt very guilty—he did not want to cause the girl grief, at the end, but she never seemed to care. He knew what it was, so well, and still.

And their boy, took some time, to warm to.

'Jiraiya' had been a legendary ninja, Keiko informed him, his legend long lost and forgotten now over the years, and Coushander smiled Sakumo seemed to know one legend he did not. Coushander had no objection to putting his second son into the Academy. Coushander was with Keiko often, and the boy loved him, his _oh-doussan. _But the father began to distance himself when in early June, they found out for certain, his cancer had come back. He'd felt it back in early April, but said nothing…because Keiko dragged him henceforth into the hospital many times against his will to try _something._ The doctors could not operate on him again. They did try a kind of healing through chakra—to little effect.

Early January, almost five years, Dalzen's team came back for good. The Morino came in the evening to surprise them—bringing the news himself.

Coushander was genuinely happy to see him.

Dalzen smiled broadly until he saw the man come walking with a little extra care—he was limping slightly, on his left side. "…Kousa…"

"Dalzen!" the Hatake shook hands with him, "Come—outside—we just put the pip-squeak to bed."

"Coushander—how…are you?!"

"I'd like to ask you that—how was it?"

Dalzen looked at Keiko strangely as she followed behind. "Well…" he said awkwardly as they took seats outside on the porch, "What's…going on?"

"…Nothing! Now tell me, I'd love to know—"

"Oh Kousa," Keiko interrupted him. "Just tell him."

"Oh…come _on," _he groaned at her. "Can't you just ignore it for once?"

"What…is going on? Are you…well, Kousa…?"

Coushander frowned—openly. He sighed loudly, glancing at his wife briefly. "As she reminds me…I am not. I…We found out, about six months ago…the cancer has returned, and it's got a good hold on me, now."

Keiko winced at his wording.

Coushander felt cocky enough to flash her a brief, confident smile.

"Oh…" Dalzen's face dropped. "I'm sorry…"

"No! None of that!" Coushander said, turning to him, "It's found my chest, and my leg has revolted now against many years of fieldwork—but the cancer has not yet found my voice," he lied, knocking on the wooden chair for a show of luck. "Now please," he smiled. "Tell me about your mission."

Dalzen did so, and regretted it'd been so long. As prominent an interrogator as he was, Suna wanted him almost a year ago to work on the case regarding the old wind temple in area thirty-seven. The investigation came to no avail anyway. The cause was still wrapped in a perfect coat of mystery as to who had decimated it. But, he was quick to describe how Sakumo had changed. Noting, he'd become an extremely bright and intelligent young person, with all the capabilities of the rank he acquired—jounin: the highest level a shinobi could be rated at, based on their skill and stamina, and ability to solve problems.

"…Damn!" Coushander smiled faintly. "I bet…I hope…he's not cocky. Damn, I was cocky, and that killed me. God, I guess I know who he takes after in skill…" Coushander shook his head. "Hm," he mused. "Well—I will watch for him then," he said, looking up. "Thank you, Dalzen, for watching over him. I don't think I could ever thank you enough, the words are inadequate."

"It's been a pleasure…I won't be doing it again, I'm sad to say—they're forcing me now, to work at the Intel division."

"Oh—you're going to do it…full time now?"

"Yes—I imagine."

Coushander grinned. "Oh you sound so _thrilled."_

Dalzen smiled and shook his head. "I don't particularly like them appreciating me for that 'skill'…that I have, but, I can't just keep saying no. They might do something nasty. That line of work seems to follow me everywhere. I can save the young guys the trouble, and that's important," Coushander noticed a hard look in his friend's dark eyes, "Sometimes…that job…just takes a lot out of you. That's all I can say."

Coushander smiled. "Still…thank you…Thank you very much; arigatou gozaimashita. Sakumo could not have had a better teacher."

**.**


	25. Angel Band

(Quick note: This is it, men. The end of a legend…and the start of a new one. I will be forever grateful to this 'novel' for teaching me the perseverance to write it. Kousa himself had a good hand in that, and I'm sure for the Author's Note at the end, I'll thank him…and Saru, again. Be prepared, though, for another 25 chapters of Sakumo and Jiraiya. But thank you so much for putting up with Cou's story, if you've made it this far.)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 25  
_**Angel Band**_

**.**

**.**

All of the worries and all the manic subsided. Sakumo swallowed and thought about his father.

It was surreal.

It did not _seem_ real.

Keiko was there, this time, when he went home with little Jiraiya. And after the boy's mother hugged them both tightly, all Sakumo wished to do was to be left alone. After a couple hours, he opened the door of the small spare room very quietly, but as he stepped out, he heard Jiraiya's mother gently trying to explain to him their father was not coming back. Sakumo suddenly did not feel hungry. He went back in and closed the door without a sound and pretended to sleep. It was the easiest thing he could do, but it was also the most frustrating, and restless option, he found.

The woman came back to his door later, and she came in and saw him, a small book in his hand, one his captain had given him years ago. "…Hello…are you all right…?"

Sakumo considered. He shook his head and shrugged.

"…Dalzen has come by, do you want to see him?"

Sakumo looked away uneasily, and he shook his head again. "I'm sorry…" he said. "I just…Not right now, please," hoping his voice didn't sound like begging.

But to his surprise, she nodded. "…Ok," she said slowly, "Come out, when you're ready."

She came back to the den and sighed.

"Should I talk to him?" Dalzen asked.

She shook her head, "No…He…just needs some time, I think."

Dalzen frowned.

Kano herself felt exactly like hiding away somewhere after the day's events. Dalzen was there, and so was Chinatsu to support her, but she did not feel ready yet to accept their kindness. "…Did you…tell Takato? Did he message back, yet?" she wondered distantly.

"Oh—yes, he's in rice country, but he says he'll be back on Friday."

"Friday…" she murmured. "Then…let's go with Saturday."

Dalzen nodded.

The two left after a while, and Kano stayed in her kitchen with a hot drink and a medical chart she'd forgotten to look at, and it didn't matter much now since the numbers and notes didn't make any sense to her whatsoever. She saw Sakumo come out a while later, looking worn and lonely, a little like his father had so many times before, but with youth still fresh on his son's face. The teen took a seat opposite her on the stool and she asked him, "…How're you feeling?"

Sakumo shrugged.

"…Let me fix you something," she said.

"…Oh—" He was about to object to save her the trouble until he felt the uneasiness silence him. He didn't have much heart or energy to argue anything. That afternoon, the woman looked as if she'd cried all morning. Her face was clearer now. But he had the oddest sensation, conversation was a precarious means; perhaps for both of them. Sakumo derived strange comfort from the silence.

She made him a hot cereal, and he smiled, "…Thank you."

She sat down again and smiled, "Happy birthday, yesterday."

He raised his head over the warm air. "Oh—thanks…" _Some birthday,_ he thought.

"Today is my birthday, and tomorrow, Hina's."

"…Oh? Oh—uh…" He wanted to wish it to her, but he could not find the words. Perhaps it was something about the word 'happy' that disagreed with him—and her.

But she smiled gently. "I'd…like to show you something," she said. "I'll be right back."

He watched her go—in the direction of her room. Sakumo sighed. He was thinking about the jackknife, wishing his father could have given it to him.

But she came back and sat opposite him, and what she had in her hand softly clinked on the counter. Her hand moved and he saw a small medal—one he remembered seeing his sensei and his teammate's father wear, on occasion. "That's…"

"…You know what it is…?"

"…You've…got it, too…what is it?"

"It's the medal Shodaime gave to us after we returned from water country. To remember."

Sakumo suddenly gaped.

_He gave a special ceremony where he gave us all medals…_

"You mean…that's…the…Oh…"

She smiled.

Sakumo touched the silver pentagon—it was smooth. "…So this…is yours…"

She nodded.

"Then my father…has one…and my uncle's…"

"…Yeah…We still have Saru's…" her smile went to one side, "But, I'm afraid your father's…was lost."

He looked at her, "…Lost?"

"He…threw his out, just before he left the open gate."

"He…what?!"

She smiled again. "He was…very troubled…and angry, at the time."

Sakumo felt like crying. "…I've seen…Dalzen…and Ichida-san wear this. He told me…it was a remembrance, but never exactly what of."

"…I'm sorry, you never knew."

"…Yeah; so am I," Sakumo said bitterly, staring down at the counter.

She looked at him with concern. Though the tone hadn't been strong, it was still there, and she recognized it well. "Understand…It was your father's decision to keep it from you," she said gently, "from everyone. He never wanted to hurt you. He loved you. More than anything in the world. He wanted to protect you, from that world, from that experience."

"I know, I know…" Sakumo said. "But, still," He looked up at her slowly, wondering about her own role in his father's life. She'd been the one who took the picture of them, who was mother to his baby brother…she'd loved his father—she seemed so ready to accept Sakumo in her home—he was grateful to it, and to her. He had no money to afford an apartment, and asking Dalzen was the absolute last thing he'd wanted to do.

She raised her left hand to move her charts, and he something that caught his eye—gleaming softly and silently like the medal; it was a wedding band.

"…Something wrong?"

Sakumo shut his eyes and looked away. His father really had moved on without him.

"…What's the matter?"

Sakumo did not look at her as he asked, "…Were you…and him—married…?"

"Oh…Yes," she seemed to remember, or realize the fact, "Five years ago, in April."

There was a long silence.

"Sakumo—"

"No…it's ok, it's fine…It's just…There was…a lot of years…wasted. That's all."

She considered her words. While Sakumo had been left in Dalzen's care, she and his father had reconciled and raised a child. She pitied what'd happened—the giant rift between the two, till now. "…It's not your fault. It was your father's decision."

He was tired of hearing it. "But—Dalzen could have told me just as well!" he said, "You all—Any one of you…especially him…I just…cannot believe…no one ever…not even…" He shook his head. "You know…I knew about the baby. I knew, because I couldn't let my father go—I had to…spy on him, like some outcast, when he'd talk to Kosaka-san; and I wanted to tell that child…it was so hard, and you know…before we left—before we did leave...I wanted to face my father, but I couldn't do it. Because, a while later…I started thinking differently about it. I started to think that maybe my father wanted to start over—have a good son who would have stayed with him, and not…God," Sakumo sighed. "I just wish…it had happened…differently."

Kano sighed. "…I know," she said, "…And…by the way," she smiled softly, "I liked the name."

He looked at her and then screwed his face. "I didn't think anybody would have kept it…it's…a name in some legend."

"I know," she said smiling. "And I will tell you…that boy also has a nickname—I still call him a little monkey—your father, did, too…after some time."

He looked up at her again. "Was he really…unable, to say it—any of it?" he asked questioningly.

"Oh Sakumo…" she smiled in brief, "You have no idea how hard it was for him. You…Oh Sakumo, this injured him. More than anything—more than the blade he took to his hand, the memory, the repression injured him, so greatly. And still, to this day," she looked down, "Coushander never told me—nor Dalzen or Takato, or anyone else, what happened that day. He wanted to tell you, and you alone. And he spent many nights by himself, to build up the courage, just to do it."

Her words soaked in and he felt like crying all over again. Coushander had faced so much, the hardest thing being the shame of forgetting who he was. The shame in repressing his brother's braveness, and his own worth; his own strength. The teen was surprised his father told him what he did, and to him alone. He believed her—his…_step-mother_, he thought. But the thoughts that swirled in his mind upset him more and more and he tried shutting his mind off to it. He didn't want to think about the next few days.

Sakumo thanked her and soon went away to bed, saying nothing else. It took him a while, but he slept.

He went into the office the next morning, fighting against his fatigue and Keiko's concern.

His captain was not there, so he continued working on the map alone, quite numbly—the one of area thirty-nine on the land of wind's far northwestern side, near the neutral zone, north of a white desert. He was interrupted mid-morning—someone came in and he thought it would be Dalzen until he finally looked up from the compass and his stupor, and saw none other than Nidaime hokage.

Sakumo stood immediately—causing his chair to screech an uncomfortable noise as it slid backward. Sakumo winced at his impeccable grace.

Nidai smiled—"…As you were."

Sakumo still clasped his hands behind him.

"I only came…to give my condolence," he said. "I am very sorry to hear about your father."

_News runs fast…_Sakumo thought. He looked down. "…Thank you, sir."

**.**

After the lunch hour, another shinobi, too, came into the small room to see him—it was Sarutobi Hizuren, who also expressed his sympathy. Sakumo thought it was a bit strange though—the jounin knew Dalzen, but Sakumo never expected Hizuren to approach him about his father, or pay much attention to it.

The teen left at the usual time, and went on to the Academy—his otouto was waiting on a bench outside. "…Ani-chan, you're late!" he pronounced.

"Gomei," he said simply, attributing it tacitly to his daze.

When they arrived home, he witnessed an uneasy scene: Keiko, Dalzen and his wife, and also Ichida's wife, all there, standing together in the kitchen. "…Sakumo," Keiko said, mustering a small smile.

"…I'm very sorry," he said quickly, his head down. "I'm tired—please excuse me."

With that, he walked back to his room as quickly as he could without full out running. And he regretted it as he closed the door—he should have escaped outside. He was sure he could outrun them…The window was far too small to fit through on the north side. He groaned inwardly, and collapsed himself on the bed, faking instantaneous sleep.

"_Kaa-chan…_" Jiraiya said to her, "What's wrong with Sakumo?"

"Jiraiya…he's just…sad—Please, go to your room for a minute—I need to talk with them alone."

"Oh…" he said silently. Reluctantly, he did as he was told. But on the way, he knocked on his brother's room.

"…Go away, please," his brother muffled quietly.

Jiraiya felt morose himself, and restlessly, he went in his own room, and shuffled around for some paper.

"I think…" Keiko said, "…He's angry."

"…Angry?"

"With us—With you," she clarified uneasily.

"…With me?"

"Sakumo…He said to me last night…a number of things, and I got that impression from him," Keiko said quietly.

"…All right…I'm going to talk to him then."

Dalzen left the women and went left down the hall.

"…Please go away…" Sakumo buried his forehead further into the pillow—his mask still high on his nose. He shut his eyes as he heard the door open.

"…Sakumo," a low voice said, "Sulking about it is going to do you no good, whatsoever."

Sakumo's brow narrowed—he did not move.

"You have a right to be upset."

Sakumo felt him sit on the end of the bed. "But you have to forgive, now, and change your grief and sorrow to something better."

_What would you know,_ Sakumo thought. "…Did anybody ever _lie_ to _you?"_ he asked, his voice engulfed in bitterness.

The tone was just as Keiko predicted. The boy was angry. But Dalzen smiled slowly, in irony, "Oh yes. Many times. Even in water country. We weren't told just who we had to take down. You uncle kept it from all of us—even your father."

"…But—that's not the same," Sakumo sat up-right, looking down at the carpet, "You never wasted five years without your only family." Sakumo bit his lip, feeling hot with anger.

Dalzen had never heard him this spiteful. "Nothing…Sakumo, in this world, is fair."

"Well it should be!" Sakumo contested loudly. He bowed his head further, shutting his eyes so the emotion might not retreat there.

"Sakumo…I do know what it feels like, without either parent. It isn't easy. But their convictions are their own. You must understand that."

Sakumo was too overwhelmed with emotion to comprehend. "…Just, go away, please!"

Dalzen was silent.

"Please! Just leave! Please!" Sakumo begged quietly, his eyes closed; convinced his sensei had on some level, betrayed him.

"Well…" Dalzen said. "We're here…when you need us."

**.**

The teen avoided all of them as best he could, even little Jiraiya, who took the opportunity and wrote notes on small pieces of paper, and pushed them under the door of Sakumo's room, repeatedly,

_Please can I come in?_

They went unanswered.

But Sakumo did answer when Keiko gently knocked on his door early Saturday morning. He saw her black vest and dark indigo clothes—she looked no different than she usually did save a dark black skirt. Her hair was down, and so were her eyes.

Sakumo had found an indigo cloth vest kept for occasions like this. The last he wore it, was at the Hyuuga's funeral, a general, the elite, Shai. It was open and blank, and he wore no headband—the collar of his mask down around his neck. He was clad, in pure indigo.

The came out together into the kitchen, and then into the den without a word and Sakumo saw Jiraiya dressed in a navy robe, with white trim. His sash was a dark forest green. "…Hi Sakumo," he said.

"Well…" she said softly, "…Ready?"

Sakumo looked down and started walking soberly for the door. He stopped abruptly and looked at the shelf holding the two pictures. He looked at the team, bound for water country, the land of mist and fog. His father stood there…dark eyes, and dark sheath.

Sakumo continued walking, and opened the door.

"…So…where are we going…?" he asked her with distance in his voice.

"…To your father's old home," she said simply.

"…Oh."

She smiled faintly. "He'd wanted to be at his other home…but, he changed his mind…"

"Let me guess…five years ago?"

She smiled, "Well…no…more like one year ago."

"…Oh," he said again, simply.

It was a long walk to Midori—two and a half, nearly three hours. They'd set off early in the morning, seven o'clock. Sakumo had refused himself breakfast—only drinking some water. He'd considered feigning sickness to get out of it, but he knew Keiko would try and persuade him other wise…so he scrapped the idea altogether to save her the trouble.

He sensed Jiraiya didn't really understand the gravity of the event—the boy was mostly quiet, too, after a while.

Sakumo had only been to his father's old home once, to his knowledge, and that was over ten years ago, to say goodbye to his mother. Sakumo understood Jiraiya's incomprehension—given time, he would learn to live with just one parent, just as Sakumo had done. The loss of his mother had affected Coushander deeply—he simply could not hold his head as high as he used to. Coushander's eyes had seemed so empty and forlorn, his whole body seemed to have weakened without her. Sakumo had remembered seeing his grandmother a bit, but now, everyone was gone. Now, it was all gone. A chill came under his skin and the teen tried not to think, but to stare at the dense trees and the road.

He guessed they got there just before ten.

Sakumo was surprised, a little, Kano knew her way so well, he meant to ask her if she'd ever been here before with his father, but he did not have the strength to ask. He guessed if she'd have known his father this long, she must have known everything.

The sign post…was lodged in the ground where Takeshi had once carved it.

_Hatake/Mihure_

"…There it is," she said quietly, more for her own boy's sake.

"Look, Sakumo," Jiraiya pointed at the sign.

"…Hm," Sakumo remarked—and then he suddenly stopped just as they walked onto the inlet. Jiraiya stopped with him.

Keiko listened, and turned, seeing the teen, staring at the ground.

Sakumo did not want to go any further.

"…Sakumo," she said gently.

Reluctantly, he followed her, only at his brother's persistent tugging.

Jiraiya tried taking his brother's hand, but Sakumo wouldn't look up. "Ani," Jiraiya said, "Look."

Sakumo looked up—and stopped again.

There was Dalzen and Chinatsu, Takato and his wife, Yukie, and Kosaka and Misao, all together standing at the edge of the treeline, on the right hand side.

Sakumo turned his head away, and unwillingly, he followed the tug and lead of his little brother.

Sakumo stopped short again as the two brothers faced the group, about nine yards away. He heard Jiraiya's mother walk up to them and say hello softly to all of them. Dalzen and Takato were in full uniform, their headbands hanging low about their necks, and Keiko put a hand to her mouth and smiled sadly, "…You wore it…"

"Of course," Dalzen said—the two men smiled.

The two shinobi wore the small silver pentagons at their hearts.

"…Wouldn't have seemed right it we didn't," Takato shrugged quietly.

Keiko hugged him, and then Dalzen. "Thank you so much," she said to them. She greeted Kosaka and Misao, too, on her right. Keiko had met them before with Coushander numerous times the past five years, and she liked them well. Kosaka and Coushander could talk forever—they'd been friends, it seemed, for just as long.

Finally, she looked behind her and saw Sakumo and Jiraiya, standing by themselves. She left Kosaka talking with Takato and walked back to Sakumo. His head all the way down.

"…Oh…Sakumo…"

She wrapped her arms around him—

Sakumo could not keep it in any longer, he sobbed. He cried and sobbed and he could not stop.

She held him and teared. "…It'll get easier," she said softly, her voice light.

"…I know…" he muffled, "I know…" But he cried. He cried for his father, so sick and weak…and so healthy and strong, holding him up and working quietly out in the fields somewhere, everyday, since Sakumo was born, and long before that. He cried for himself and where he was now and who he had to be with, and what they had to do. He cried he was forced to say goodbye to the man who'd never learn him the scythe and the land and life again. He cried he was alone. He cried the greatest man in his life was gone.

Keiko released him slowly and turned, and held his shoulders, by his side.

Sakumo stifled the sobs—physically forcing them down as he never forced so strong a grief before. He hung his head low as he could in shame and embarrassment; knowing he inadvertently sobered the air for everyone else to see, stopping all the light conversation—and Sakumo could not hear it anymore, nor could he hide his pain, nor his unsheltered and unbridled grief.

The woman led him forward slowly; Sakumo could feel Jiraiya tugging on his pant leg empathetically—and the men and women went through the trees together, and into the clearing.

It was lit brightly by the sun far in the east—sun and shadow spotted together, half and half. Sakumo continued fighting giant leaps of sobs and tears, biting his tongue, staring at the ground, averting his eyes away from the people, the urn, and makeshift cross—it was right beside his mother.

He felt Keiko continue to hold his back. Sakumo fought his grief so hard, the things he would eventually remember were few. But Jiraiya felt close to him, and confused, in his small way, with his small grip. Kosaka-san bowed his head and spoke first:

He led them in a prayer, and then a psalm.

And then, staring down at the plot, he added finally to his eulogy, "I didn't know him as a shinobi," he said quietly, "But I'm sure, he made a damn fine one. He was…a good friend."

Kosaka said nothing else—and he looked around, and then up, at Dalzen, who nodded—at first, saying nothing, then, quietly, as Sakumo had never heard his sensei before;

"I wanted to say that…I have struggled, to come up with something to say, in honor of this man, but, through all the speeches owed to the likes of, 'war horses' or some such nonsense…I found…I wouldn't know how to put it. So, I decided to say what I felt about him. And…if my sentiments are like your own, then Coushander has succeeded in befriending you, which I believe he could do to anybody. I know, it was certainly never my forte…

"I remember him, as a man who was shinobi. And I still hold, in my mind, he was 'one of us', because he persevered, and he endured. Greatly. He was an incredibly strong-willed man, in spite of his faults, and he had the humility to laugh at them, in light of it. Something I could never do. He and Saru both…I knew him…in two years," he said, "for being brave; and I think he excelled at that all his life. He was a brave man…to endure, what he did. And he was brave to start over, with nothing. And, I feel…he was brave, to let go. Not from what took him from us, but from what haunted him, half his life. When faced…he owned to it, as any man should do. I believe he is brave, as that kind of fight, is the hardest to win. And that…" Dalzen hesitated, "was who he was—a determined, strong, and stubborn man, in the best sense of the word. And he was very strong…at the end. I still remember what he said, thirty-two years ago; there was nothing left for him to do for Kiri, for Konoha, or for anyone. I believe he meant that. Even though his service, ended there, there was still something left for him to do. Praise his courage, he endured.

"But Coushander…you have now finished…a very long fight with the world. And…I _will _say, _usque ad finem_, you have persevered, and endured. May God...rest your soul, and your brother's, as well."

A quiet moment passed, until Dalzen looked back at Keiko, and he stepped back.

Sakumo remembered the woman left his side, and Dalzen took her place. The teen was determined, now, not to look up.

"…Thank you," Keiko said to Dalzen, smiling sadly, her eyes shining. "…And thank you all for your support," she said, with the same lightness in her voice when talking to Sakumo. "…I wanted to thank you. It's been a hard six months…but I had five—six years with him I will never, ever forget. Dalzen was right…" she said shakily, "…to say, he was brave. He endured…more than I will ever know, but…he was always…willing to make light of it, just like his brother. He was like that the first time I met him…" she smiled briefly. "He would tell me things, after a while, about himself, and where he grew up, and his brother's antics…He was so kind…" she hesitated, smiling in sorrow. "He said…And Kousa once said to me, he never wished to cause me this grief—not me or anyone, but…knowing him…I wouldn't trade our days for anything."

Slowly, she stepped back, beside her own son, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Kosaka said a closing prayer.

And then it was over.

Jiraiya held on to his mother and cried some silent tears of confusion. She knelt down and held him gently.

"…That…a very wonderful thing you said," Kosaka said to Dalzen.

Sakumo thought so too, but he couldn't say it—the obstruction inside his throat was too big. Instead he walked back a few steps and avoided the people, and he slowly walked out of the grove, away from the plot and hoped no one would follow him. As he walked through the trees, he turned right, and went out the treeline that way.

A track of water, about six foot, varying wider and smaller in places, ran in the bottom of two steep hills on either side. Sakumo carefully watched his balance and sat on the ground, just as it inclined down. He drew up his knees, and more tears came down his face, as he sat there, hoping to be alone.

After a while, he heard a distinct 'dip' in the water. It was a frog. Sakumo cleared his eyes and saw it, and it dived underneath a patch of thick brown moss. His father had never talked of the place—not like his mother. His mother would have talked of anything. But then Sakumo heard another sound, coming after him slowly. "…Sakumo."

It was Dalzen.

…_My name is Sakumotsu,_ he thought.

Sakumo released a pent sob and suddenly stopped, feeling so embarrassed he'd revealed so much emotion, especially to his sensei, of all men. And then Sakumo remembered a little of what Dalzen had said, and Sakumo knew he must have been feeling it too.

"…It's all right, Sakumo…come back up."

Ruefully, Sakumo did so, and stared at the ground the whole way. The group had parted—Keiko and Chinatsu and Takato's wife were together. Jiraiya, and Takato and Kosaka, with his wife, were near the burial spot. The couple came up to Sakumo, and Misao embraced Matsuko's boy briefly.

"…Thank you," he mumbled quietly.

Kosaka and his wife walked out of the forest. Takato nodded to Sakumo, the teen nodded back, unable to say anything. Dalzen left with him, and Sakumo slowly realized everyone was leaving but Keiko.

"…Sakumo," she said. "Go ahead and take your time."

She left, as well, ushering her young Jiraiya.

Sakumo looked behind him.

He was alone.

_Hatake Ryouma Saru-Shin  
__Beloved Son And Brother  
__Rest With Honor And Peace_

_Hatake Matsuko  
__Beloved Daughter, Friend, Wife, and Mother…_

His grandparents.

The Mihure.

And now…

Sakumo cried again—he shut his eyes to the brown urn and cried. "…Otou…" he whispered. "Otoussan…"

His father was really gone.

And with him went the wheat and the mystery and the garden and Zosha, and the grey radio, and the red notebook.

Sakumo collapsed down on his knees and sobbed.

All of it was gone—his father's voice, his father's strength, the scythe, the sowing, the nights of legend and quiet and suspense and wonder.

Sakumo kept crying until he thought he exhausted all his tears. But they came again as he whispered again, "Oh dad…I'm so sorry, for everything. I wish, I could have known."

He kneeled there, alone, for some time.

Someone soon entered back into his world…and that was Keiko.

He got up slowly as she came.

She took hold of his shoulder, and they walked out, together.

Kosaka and Misao left, and Sakumo was ready to leave, too.

Dalzen and Takato stayed behind, with their wives.

Jiraiya was confused and upset, Sakumo walked beside him and held hands with the boy, which seemed to soothe him. A third of the way back, the boy seemed, and acted tired. So Sakumo gave in and thought the boy would appreciate a ride on his back.

His otouto did—and soon, fell asleep, clutching his brother's clothes.

**.**

They arrived back at Kano's, and Sakumo felt genuinely sick to his stomach. He walled himself in the bathroom, and then in the spare bedroom, and he slept.

When he woke up, his chest felt heavy and morose. He felt as if he could start crying all over again, the emotion in him refilled itself every time he thought he'd spent it. It rifled through him powerfully, like a mad torrent or squall, unconcealed and relentless, in grief; he could feel nothing else. Never had he expressed this much emotion before—he hadn't known it could pain him so unbearably deep.

Before he opened the door, he noticed a folded note lying on the carpet right before the bottom crack of the door. He picked it up and unfolded it; _Ani-chan please get better._

Sakumo frowned. He turned and set it on the small shelf near his bed. He went out slowly—cautiously, in case any people were over. He could not sense anything. He found Keiko alone, in the kitchen, the charts untouched and unopened beside her—there was a small brown book beside them. She was staring blankly at the counter, a clear glass by her side.

"…Oh," she looked up. "...Sakumo."

"…Hello," he said quietly.

"…Are you feeling better?" She looked him over. Keiko concluded he wasn't, at least not physically—and she got up to fix him something. "…You must be hungry," she said. "You just missed Dalzen and the others."

_Oh…darn…_he thought to console himself. A very faint smile tugged his mouth at the notion. Slowly, he took a seat on the stool and admired the small brown book. It was leather, an indented frame around the edge. He was startled a little as she asked him again, "…Are you ok?"

He sighed as he calmed. "No…" He laid his face in his palm.

"…Did you feel sick?" She turned from her work on the stove.

"…Yeah…I guess…Not so much, now," he said, trying not to worry her.

"…Well…" she seemed to say. She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Keiko slid the charts and the book a ways and set it before him. She went back to the stove and stirred the contents in the pan.

"…Where's…Jiraiya…?" Sakumo asked, after taking a sip.

"Asleep. Seems the day wore him out, too."

Sakumo sighed and idly looked at the brown book. It seemed to keep a scent of wood with it—maple, or poplar, he wasn't sure. Most of the things in his father's house smelled that way. It also smelled of leather, more than anything. It wasn't thick, but it wasn't thin. His subconscious guessed it was a companion to the charts—medical notes she kept or some such.

Keiko gave him a bowl with hot soup, and he thanked her. He ate very slow, until his body remembered he hadn't had anything all day.

The woman set her glass down and smiled after a while as she touched the brown leather book. "…This," she said, "Was your uncle's."

Sakumo stopped. "What…?"

"It was Saru's," she smiled, folding her arms. "Given to him by Senju Karada."

"Sen…" Sakumo's eyes widened in direct recognition of the name. He looked down at the book, then at her; "Sen…ju…_Karada?!"_

She nodded.

"My—He was…the greatest ninja...He was…one of the greatest…!" Sakumo exclaimed, astonished. He looked down at the book: it might as well have been a sitting piece of history.

She smiled. "He was Saru's sensei, and captain."

"…Are you…serious?!"

"Yes. Your uncle spent a lot of time under Karada."

"But…there were so few…that ever…my gosh," he said again. "I had _no_ idea…"

She smiled gently. "Your uncle loved song. With this book, he recorded all the songs he knew. Every single one—all of the old, forgotten ones."

Sakumo moved his bowl to ensure he wouldn't harm the book—it was old, then, it had to be. Slowly, he opened the cover and noticed the inscription on the inside cover…written by Karada himself.

Sakumo could scarcely believe it: _…Here, is all that matters.'_

He looked at the first page, and read 'The Black Sheep', in good handwriting—it made him smile a little, it was a little like his father's style, but neater, and a little more slanted. "My gosh…" he said again as he turned a few of the pages.

"That's just one of the things your father kept over the years."

Sakumo looked up.

"Though…he threw out the medal—and his kunai…and he never took his headband…He did keep his katana, and Saru's. Also, the water country diary, of what happened…almost day by day, written by Saru."

"He kept…a diary?"

"A journal, diary…" she smiled. "It's all there; in an old leather chest."

"Wha…" Sakumo knew the very chest she must have meant. "It's…in there…?!_ All this time…?!" _he exclaimed, bewildered. Kano nodded. His father's past life had only been one look away. "Oh my God." he said in shock.

Sakumo slowly groaned.

He turned his attention away from the brown leather book and sighed. "…I can't believe this," he murmured. "His…My father's…katana…is…in _there?"_

She nodded again. "He locked it away for good, until he was finally able to look at it five years ago. It was very, very difficult for him, but he did it. I'll gladly walk over with you, so you can see it, when you're ready."

Sakumo stared at the counter.

"I know it's so overwhelming…but hang in there…it will get easier, with time."

Fresh tears leapt to the teen's eyes. He nodded slowly. "…Thank you," was all he could muster. He looked back the bowl of soup. He couldn't see it very well, so he wiped his face shamefully.

**.**

Looking at the objects was like looking at some lost treasure of a lost ninja. Sakumo found it difficult to accept the lost objects had belonged to his father, of all people. All this time, the objects had laid there, collecting the dust of the air of whatever obduracy his father had closed them off to. He took back the diary, and read it, in one sitting.

The final pages were in Dalzen's handwriting.

The final pages, made him mourn.

_…Expect to be home soon.'_

Dalzen and Keiko both made him understand (very well) he could not speak of the mission at all. Technically, no one was ever to know the real reason why they'd been sent there. Sakumo understood well enough. He returned the slim black journal to the chest with Kano that Monday evening and before he left, he took one object that was still so dear to him.

He took back the jackknife, and he whispered, "Thank you…dad…thank you."

_I promise—oh I promise…_

He returned with Keiko to stay at her home and thought intensely about over all his uncle had written, keeping it swirling in his mind, voicing none of it.

Their villain…had borne the name…'Uchiha'…

It made him wonder.

**.**

The next day he went back to work with Dalzen, and his sensei approved Sakumo's drawings, and signed the pages with him. Sakumo wasn't in the mood for humour, but he looked up at his captain, and asked him what to do with the smaller sheets of paper, which had served as their notes and their guide: Dalzen merely smiled. "…I think, I'll keep them," Sakumo said, not wishing to rip them as they'd wanted. He looked down, the little sheets were in both his and Dalzen's writing, of the routes they followed and other such information. "I want to keep them," he repeated, assuredly, feeling the documents, in lieu of the Kiri diary, had some sentimental value.

Dalzen made no objection.

"And sir…" Sakumo looked back up, "Captain—" he said uneasily, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being angry with you."

Dalzen smiled again; "You had a right to be. I'm just surprised you didn't get indignant earlier."

"I didn't understand," Sakumo said, "How could I understand—it was unbelievable."

"You believe it now?"

"I guess I have to—" he looked up again, uneasily. "…What was he like?" Sakumo wondered, "My uncle."

Dalzen suppressed a grin; "Annoying. I hated him."

Sakumo smiled.

"But I didn't. He was…truly something else."

"And what was my father like? I mean, what kind of ninja was he, really?"

"…You're going to ask me fifty questions, aren't you?"

Sakumo looked down. "Well, I, just…"

"I'll answer them all," Dalzen said, with a smile.

But mid-morning, the two were requested to be seen by Nidai; the older Hyuuga ninja Sakumo had seen before brought them the news. Sakumo desperately wanted to stay behind, but the message was for both of them.

Sakumo fidgeted with his headband around his neck and continued straightening his vest in a panic. Dalzen was excessively calm, considering. "…What could he want?!" Sakumo asked him quietly.

"…Confidence, clarity, and conviction, Sakumo."

The teen frowned nervously behind his mask, "…Captain…!"

But they were at the door to the hokage's office. Reluctantly, Sakumo followed his sensei, keeping his head down, hoping whatever Nidaime had to say was to Dalzen, and that he could remain silent.

The hokage nodded to them from behind his excessively cluttered desk. Papers were stacked on either end, as they usually were, strewn about in a sort of organized, yet chaotic way. The only menacing tridents that hung on the walls were old pictures of family and places, and some notes hung behind him, pinned on silver tacks. There were two high shelves, homing nameless spines of dusty-color books. "Thank you," he said. "And I'd like to thank you two for completing the maps. They are extremely accurate, well done."

Dalzen nodded.

Sakumo continued staring at the wooden floor. He could see the unusual markings of the faded grain.

"…Which brings me to the next matter. Sakumo. I have something that belongs to you, now."

The teen straightened, his dark eyes looked at the bottom of the brown desk, but no further.

"…I knew your father, only a little, when he came back," Nidai explained. "My brother gave a special ceremony for him, your captain here, and the others, and I remember it well," he said, watching the teen slowly look up. "My brother was a firm believer in honoring those who fought for him, any way he could. He gave them each a small silver medal, and I remember your father received two—one as his, and one in honor of his brother. Coushander…was quite uneasy at the time, and disturbed, greatly, by what he had seen.

"I saw him, by chance, just as he was leaving the village," Nidai picked up a small silver medal under him atop his desk, "And I believe he dropped this, on his way out. I believe he flung it at the commemoration post, for the original name of the village."

Sakumo looked and saw the shining silver pentagon. His eyes widened.

"I feel, it's only right I should return it to you. The post is no longer there, and I believe the hard feelings, are gone, as well."

Nidai got up and walked, and pinned it on the teen's vest and the Senju smiled.

"Th…Thank you," Sakumo stammered, completely astonished, "Thank you, sir."

**.**

Before Sakumo left the office, one other person came in to see him—Sarutobi Hizuren. "Sakumo—may I have a word?"

The older man was so polite, Sakumo always felt a little awkward around him, "…Of course, what is it?"

Hizuren gave him a folder in his hand, a piece of paper inside. Sakumo opened it and read it—it was a proposed mission—to area thirty-six, leaving on Friday, slated for a few weeks. "I was wondering," the man said, "If you'd be on my team."

Sarutobi was leading—his name written at the top. "…Oh…um…"

"You don't have to answer right away. But I'd like you to think about it. Being Dalzen's student…you know the area, and you know Murasaki. We'll be working with her to track Nikure. She said her hawk saw him around the neutral zone, so we've been cleared to help her. I'd like to have Hyuuga Hiromasa in the team, and Seichi is coming, too."

"…Oh…well…um…"

Hizuren smiled. "Think about it tonight, but let me know tomorrow."

Sakumo nodded. "Ok…I will—thank you."

Sarutobi nodded, and left.

_A mission?_ Sakumo thought. For the first time, he was not sure if he was up to it.

**.**

He went home with Jiraiya, and Sakumo showed Keiko the medal, and told her what Nidaime had said.

"…Oh! I had no idea…!" She looked at it tearfully.

Sakumo smiled. "Dalzen hadn't either—he was surprised."

"My word," she smiled, "That's amazing!"

**.**

Later that night, after Jiraiya was tucked in bed, Sakumo confided to her about the mission Sarutobi had offered him.

"…You sound like you don't want to go," she said.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure of any use I'd be."

"Oh nonsense," she said. "Dalzen's told me all the time since he first trained you, you're a splendid shinobi. You think maybe…it's a little soon?"

"…Well…Maybe…" he began to confess.

"Oh!" she suddenly said, "Speaking of which—I wanted to give you something."

"Oh…" He wanted to object, but she was off to fetch the article, before he could say anything.

She came back with a small item, a grey scroll, marking in hiragana; _inu_.

"…That's…"

She smiled broadly. "I can't use them anymore, and I'd really like you to have it."

"Oh, I…can't…"

She put it in his hand. "Go ahead and keep it. Just…watch out for the grey one…He's a bit schizophrenic."

**.**

"…This is shit…all of it…"

Sakumo walked in the next morning, smiling at his captain, "…What was that…?"

"Oh—Sakumo…I…didn't hear you come in…"

Sakumo laughed, and he smiled. "…What are you doing?"

"Oh—just a few things for the Intel people…nothing important."

"Oh. Well, there's someone I need to see…"

"Is it Hizuren?"

"…How'd you know?"

"I heard about the mission from Hiromasa," Dalzen finally turned around to face him, "Are you going?"

"Well…" Sakumo looked away. "I…"

"You won't be going on any more missions with me."

"Oh—I know, I know…It's just…It's pretty soon, that's all."

Dalzen smiled. "Do you think the missions are going to wait for you or something?"

"Well…no…"

Sakumo looked away, unable to compete with the man's intense stare.

In truth, it was logical. He _should_ be on that mission. He knew the area, he knew the sand ninja, and he'd proven himself in skill and thought as jounin.

In truth, the memory of his father was stopping him. The pain and the loss, both rendered him reticent and lifeless. He felt as if his purpose had gone…whatever it was.

Dalzen turned away, back to the papers.

"What…do you think I should do?"

"You should know the answer to that," he said simply.

Sakumo felt worse.

**.**

The teen met Hizuren in the chamber, talking with a Senju. Sakumo waited patiently until the jounin came over, smiling, "What did you decide?"

Sakumo took a quick breath and nodded. "I will go."

"Great!"

"Though…" Sakumo smiled furtively. "Friday is a lousy day to start a mission, sir."

Hizuren laughed. "…They'd like us there by Monday, what can I say."

Sakumo nodded to him, "Thank you, Sarutobi-san."

Hizuren smiled.

**.**

The ani helped his little brother train that evening, with Kano's approval. Sakumo was greatly surprised Jiraiya held a kunai as well as he did. The boy didn't seem like he learned it—he had no style, Sakumo thought it looked, simply, natural. The boy held it well, more than Sakumo ever remembered doing when he was eight years old.

But his otouto tired quickly, and though the boy was stubborn, Sakumo was determined to see him back before sunset. Jiraiya side-lined him as he put the last of the kunai back in the bag. "…Otou's been gone for a while," he said quietly. Jiraiya had not seen the man as Sakumo had, when Coushander told his teen everything. "I miss him—I want him to come back. I wish he'd come back."

"…Yeah…" Sakumo was surprised by the sudden, somber change of topics. The teen forgot how much their father's…'absence' had affected the young boy. He knew the odd feeling, just thinking about his mother.

"…You miss him too," Jiraiya observed. "Everybody gets quiet when we talk about him. I think kaa-chan misses him the most. She always looks at his picture. And I hear her crying, sometimes."

Sakumo frowned. "Well…" he said, uncomfortably diverting the subject, "Shall we get back then…?"

Jiraiya was sitting on the grass of the field—looking up at the stars, ignoring his brother's request. "Ani-chan…would you help me tomorrow?"

"Well…I'll be packing tomorrow."

Jiraiya turned his head. "…Packing…?!"

Sakumo smiled openly at him, "I'm leaving on a mission, on Friday."

Jiraiya's face suddenly reddened, "…What?!" he exclaimed. "Why?! For how long?!"

"Only for a few weeks."

"Weeks!? You can't! Oh Sakumo, don't go! You can't leave! What will I do?!"

"I'm sorry, Jiraiya…But I'll be back, I promise. You'll be all right. I'll be back before you know it."

Jiraiya turned away, his eyes tearing.

Sakumo sighed and sat with him, the boy stiffened, trying not to cry. "…It's ok," Sakumo said.

"No it's not! You can't leave!" Jiraiya folded his arms petulantly. After a moment, the little boy looked at him, lip curled, "D'you…_promise_ you'll come back?" he said shakily.

Sakumo smiled. "I promise."

Jiraiya hung his head and grumbled a shaky understanding.

Sakumo smiled, warmed by his little brother's concern.

Jiraiya looked up to the stars, and the two watched them shine in the blue sky. Immediately, Jiraiya asked, to detain them further, "...What do you think the stars are?"

Sakumo looked at him, "What do you mean?"

"I always heard…they were warriors, you know?"

The niisan smiled. Sakumo looked up and scanned the sky; it was just dark enough to see. "…You see that one?" He pointed above them. "That's the brightest star…the North Star."

"That's the easiest to see," Jiraiya said. "It shines the brightest."

"And…can you see the ones around it?" he traced the lines of a row of stars. "The big dipper, and the little one, you know what those are?"

"…Yeah," Jiraiya watched them.

"Otoussan…once told me…when I was little, like you…about why the North Star stays still."

"…Really? …Why?" Jiraiya wondered. "How come?"

"The North Star, or the fixed star…was once a man, named Naga."

"…Naga?" Jiraiya looked at him quizzically. "…A man? Really? Was he a warrior?"

Sakumo shook his head, "No," he said, slowly remembering the story. "He was a shepherd, who loved climbing mountains—every mountain. He'd climb to the top of every hill, every plateau, and every mountain, and his flock would follow him, wherever he went," Sakumo thought, trying to think of the story. "And one day, he—they arrived at the top of a tall hill, and he saw a great, big mountain in the distance…And it was so tall, he couldn't really see the top of it…And, the shepherd's father…Shino, said, 'I will watch our flock…son…as you climb…for they will never be able to follow you.' So…Naga began climbing, but the mountain…it was different than the others—it was rugged, and dangerous, and steep…and after so many days of climbing, he couldn't find a way to go any higher. He went all around the circumference of the mountain, looking for some kind of trail…until…he found a small hole in the mountain, and he took it. But as he went in…the mountain rumbled, like in anger, and the path closed behind him with rock and stone. He had no choice, but to go on.

"He traveled, for a while…inside the tunnel, and finally, he saw…a little pocket of light. He came out, and he saw he was almost at the top. So he continued to climb. He reached the top of the mountain, and saw there was a little area of livable space, and so, he said…" Sakumo paused and thought, "'Here…I will stay—Here I _must_ stay, until I die. But, I have climbed my mountain, I am here, at last.'

"And he could see everything. He could see his flock, his father, and far out across and beyond them—He could see the tops of all the hills and smaller mountains they'd traveled through. And Naga…called out to his father, and Shino saw him and was sad, and he said…'My son…will never come back. Forever, he must stay on this mountain…He can travel and climb no more,' And Shino thought, and he said…'I can't let my son die—I will turn him into a star, a fixed star. He will be a guide-mark for all the living things on the earth, and in the sky.

"So Naga, became a star, a fixed star, and he is true north. And the flock…The flock missed him, and so they went to the mountain, but they were challenged by it…and still…they try. Shino called them 'big dipper' and 'little dipper', and made them all stars. Together, they go around that mountain, trying to find the one trail to Naga. They're always moving around him…but he stays still," Sakumo finished quietly.

Little Jiraiya stared at the constellations. He saw the flock in the sky, out of reach from Naga, somewhere, on the mountain in a line. "…You think…they could ever reach him…?" the boy asked with empathy.

"Some things…aren't meant to be," Sakumo said uneasily.

"D'you think…Naga's lonely?"

Sakumo smiled sadly. "Maybe…I think…he knew what he was getting into…Every action has a consequence—just like staying out so late."

"Aw…" Jiraiya sighed.

"…Come on," Sakumo smiled.

"…But I'm tired…" Jiraiya said with a deeper purpose, yawning mischievously.

"Oh…fine…"

Sakumo let the boy ride on his back.

Jiraiya tried kept Naga and the wayfaring flock of sheep in his peripheral, but they were going the opposite way.

**.**

The young boy was eager to tell his mother the story as she tucked him into bed. She listened as he repeated, "…And they're always moving around him, but, he stays still."

"That's quite a tale."

"Yeah, Sakumo says otoussan told it to him when he was little—like me."

"…Really?" Kano looked at him with greater interest.

"Hai—you know, I think Sakumo still misses him."

She faked a smiled. "We all do," She shook her head and kissed the young boy's forehead. "Goodnight, little monkey…get some sleep."

"…'Night."

Kano saw Sakumo in the kitchen, mulling over a clean white paper. He turned and looked at her uneasily. "…I decided...to accept."

She smiled, "You look so excited."

"Well…I guess…I just have to."

"You're being very brave, Sakumo."

He smiled, "…My name…is Sakumotsu, you know," he admitted, feeling unabashed for the first time in his life to say it.

She smiled. "I know; your father told me he named you."

Sakumo's grief flashed to his eyes. "…Yeah…" he said proudly, full of feeling. He wanted to say he missed him so much, but there was too much emotion wound in his throat.

"That story you told Jiraiya…was very sweet. Did you tell him…you'll be leaving?"

Sakumo nodded. "That day after tomorrow…he…wasn't very happy," Sakumo smiled. "Oh…and I want to thank you…for letting me stay here."

"You're welcome anytime, Sakumo."

"Thank you…" he said honestly, "You've…been very kind."

She smiled.

It'd been such a hard couple weeks. It'd been an even harder week, after Coushander had passed. She worried for Sakumo, and prayed for him. The loss had affected him greatly, to the core of his being.

She imagined the mission would be a distraction for him, and also perhaps a catalyst, to show him and return him as to where he stood with himself and the world. Keiko prayed it might do him good, so uncertain as he was. And she hoped her Hairo…would serve him well.

Keiko hugged the boy tightly, Friday morning, before he left.

**.**


	26. Memento

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 26  
_**Memento**_

**.**

**.**

It took three days to arrive at area thirty-six.

"Oi! Sakumo! I didn't know you'd be along!" Murasaki cooed. "…Where's your sensei?"

"Sorry," Sarutobi interjected for them with a smile, "They just sent the kids."

Murasaki Masago scanned them over with her deep blue eyes; Hizuren, Sakumo, and Seichi on the Monday morning. "So…just the kids…" she murmured to herself. Masago was the sand shinobi to see them the rest of the way north to the areas 37 and 35 on sand's northern border. The woman had met Sakumo with Dalzen and the others five years ago, and again when the attack happened on the wind old temple. She was a tall girl, an inch or so higher than Hizuren. She had a deep tan complexion, dark brown hair, half covered by a violet headscarf that started at her forehead, tied down, and trailed at her shoulders. Masago wore a typical suna uniform, her headband at her left arm. "…Well…I can deal with that!" she smiled congenially. The woman was two years older than Hizuren, she was twenty-six, and very energetic, "Ready?"

Sarutobi nodded.

"Well he's back," she explained to them as they trekked slowly out across a deep brown gorge. "Or at least that's what I saw, and I like watching things like a hawk. I saw him scuffing it up with three Iwa ninja—they might have been on his trail, too, I don't know. We've received word back, but Iwa claims they don't have a clue. So naturally," she smiled, "That leaves it up to me to figure things out. And if an idiot like me can have any hope of getting to the bottom of this, there may be hope for Suna yet," She nodded, "It's down here."

They'd come down the gorge a ways to find a mahogany-red color jagged pass, burnt with deep hues of red and beige; brown and black. There was a steep hill down, with a few knotty pines growing in the soil. The basin below was pure brown earth, and little else—it was narrow, and looked to be a road, deep green evergreens on either side.

"…Down there?" Seichi questioned.

It was border territory between sand and rock, the neutral zone between them. She nodded—"This pass is the only way down, the only easy way. My Teguri is circling there now."

They went left once down to the road; straight east. The road inclined sharply every twenty yards. A tall brown mountain showed it's peak there, showing the road became more jagged. Pines mottled in clusters and herds like green moss growing from far away. Sakumo had never been this north along the borderline, on the east side. Away from the dunes straight south, the land was high and rough, in all directions. It was uneven, but beautiful.

Murasaki suddenly stopped on the road and closed her eyes. "…He's there…" she murmured. "Teguri can see…" She opened her eyes and turned to her right, down to the deep green forest holding the pines. Her hawk, high in the sky came down over the basin below and screeched. "Hizuren, Seichi, take the left, Sakumo, let's go right. You see him, disable him, no more. Come on."

Sakumo followed her—their search turned up nothing until twenty minutes later, they were circling back west, and they heard Hizuren's loud voice shout, "No!" Murasaki and Sakumo ran faster, and saw them in the trees—Hizuren, Nikure, and Seichi, a kunai in hand, inches away from Nikure's throat. The man was bound with rope. "Seichi, back off," Sarutobi said sternly.

"Not until he tells us what—"

"Seichi!" Hizuren said again.

Seichi turned and noticed Masago and Sakumo, standing there with them. Reluctantly, he withdrew. The brown haired man on the ground looked injured, but his wounds already taped, as if they'd been caused only recently. "Nikure Ishio…" Murasaki looked at him curiously. "You've got some explaining to do."

The man looked away and said nothing.

"Like, perhaps, why you were paid off before the attack, two years ago?" she helped. "What was your role. You tell us now or we take it from you."

Nikure said nothing.

"Damn you! Seichi burst. "Tell us you bastard!"

"Seichi," Hizuren scolded him calmly, "Enough."

The men were silent.

"Sakumo," Sarutobi looked at him. "Can you do it?"

The teen slowly nodded.

Dalzen never directly taught Sakumo in mind scanning. He never wished to teach Sakumo that, only genjutsu blocking. But Sakumo still learned indirectly, listening to his sensei speak to other ninja behind closed doors, explained as he was taught so many years ago…in water country. So Sakumo practiced it by himself, behind walls and trees on rabbits or birds. Murasaki had let him try it one night on her hawk. So Sakumo approached Nikure, and took a deep breath. The teen stood behind him, and laid his right hand on the man's head, and Sakumo closed his eyes.

It was a grey darkness.

Sakumo looked for a while, and found a series of blocs, like screens, he had to apply a fine amount of chakra to squeak through. Sakumo slowed uneasily as he heard;

"One plus one is two, one plus two is three, one plus three is four, one plus four is five, one plus five is six, one plus—"

Sakumo pulled out just as Murasaki hit the man.

Nikure was quiet.

Sakumo staggered back, a little dazed. He knelt down and gathered himself to go back in.

"…Sakumo, are you all right?"

He could barely hear her—it was as if he were inside a deep barrel. "Yeah, fine…" He took another long breath and re-established the connection. It took him a while to find the bloc again, but once he did, he was able to break through it—a flood of memories hit him like a cold blast from a freezer, he shuddered, blocking them out, and searching for wind country. He searched and waded numbly through two years—he caught a glimpse of the old temple, through Nikure's eyes, before both it and the small town was destroyed. He looked and slowly felt warm again, as he walked across county's glittering gold sand. Minutes, or hours rolled by and he saw a man by a blue-color building,

"Mohore?"

"Hello," he said cordially. He looked like a businessman, A maroon color suit and perfect brown hair—deep ebony eyes, wearing a brown hooded cloak, partially closed, in the front. "Have you got the times?"

Sakumo felt reluctant. But he reached into his pocket, and produced a folded note. Nikure gave it to him.

"…Excellent," the man said with both a pleasant and mysterious low voice. He glanced at the note's contents and quickly re-folded the paper. "We are much obliged, thank you. You will receive the rest of the payment shortly."

"Well, look," Nikure stuttered, "I don't want anything more to do with your client," he said shakily. "Nothing more—you understand? I can't deal with someone who won't tell me the whole story. This is it, you hear? I want nothing of it. Nothing. This is it."

"…Understandable," the man said in a friendly way, with a slight nod of his head and a smile, "As you wish."

Nikure nodded anxiously, his pulse had quickened. Nikure turned, and he never looked back. He scurried back into the town.

Sakumo tried going further backwards, but time pushed him forward. Time moved to fast to look—he saw himself looking out over the vacant sand where the grand temple had been, feeling a sense of shock and guilt. The teen was trapped—he fought the link and pushed him out forcibly, cutting his chakra as best he could. Sakumo felt himself come back to the grayness and then tumble onto it's floor.

And it took him a good ten minutes to fully wake up. The forest was shaded, needles and loose dirt, Nikure there on the ground, Sakumo there with him, and Murasaki by his side. He began to feel cold again. He brushed his sleeves and felt himself there, outside the man's mind. Slowly, Sakumo took off his pack, and pulled out a small sketch pad and pencil.

"…What did you see?" Sarutobi asked behind him, but the voice sounded like it'd come from much farther away.

Murasaki raised her hand in silence, and she stood.

Sakumo closed his eyes and then wrote 'Mohore' at the top of the blank sheet and _'agent—representative of the "client" who may have destroyed the temple.'_. Sakumo thought and added, _'Nikure Ishio gave the agent the "times"'_.

Sakumo sketched Mohore's face and features—strong brown and intense and secretive dark eyes. Trim hair and collar underneath the hood—the man seemed like an immense well of darkness—even Nikure had felt uneasy. Sakumo could still feel it. Mohore's face looked absolutely guilty—but proud of it. Sakumo secured a few lines and shaded beneath the dark brow. He shaded the collar and closed his eyes—he was sure he saw a silver, holeless button at the collar. He quickly added it there, and it finally looked right. He finished, critiquing the likeness before he held it up to whomever was closest to him—it was Murasaki.

She took it and looked at the picture.

"Nikure…" Sakumo felt extremely dizzy. "...Was not the one who destroyed the temple…it was that man—that man's client. His client…" Sakumo remembered the conversation, as if he'd had it himself.

"…Did you see the client?" Masago asked him, handing the pad to Sarutobi; Seichi looked on over the jounin's shoulder.

"…No," Sakumo said, looking down at the grey pencil. "Just him. He's a representative…Mohore…" the teen repeated shakily.

"Nikure gave him the 'times'?" she wondered. "Presumably…the two squads that were kept there…" she said sorrowfully. "Damn…" she sighed and looked down at the teen. "…Nice work, Sakumo. We'll take Nikure back as accomplice."

"…He looks kinda creepy," Seichi muttered.

"It's a good drawing," Sarutobi complimented. "But he does look rather…suspicious."

"There's a lot of shady-looking people around here," Murasaki said. She looked down at Sakumo again, who took to cradling his head with his right hand. "You all right?" she asked. "Do you need to rest?"

Slowly, he shook his head. He put the pencil back in his pack and put it around him as he stood. Sarutobi offered the sketch pad back, but Sakumo shook his head. "You keep it," The teen looked behind him and saw Nikure lying there silently, unconscious.

"Well," Masago said, "Then let's head out. The station's not far away."

It'd been an easy way down, compared to the way back up. Sakumo and Sarutobi were last—the teen took his canteen at intervals, and still felt a growing sense of vertigo as the gravity increased. Murasaki said they could reach the little wind border town before nightfall. But Sakumo finally fell far behind, Sarutobi had to help him up. And as they were just at the cross point between the mountain and the gorge, Murasaki's hawk came down and screeched loudly. A fissure suddenly split between the two pairs of shinobi, quaking the uneven ground, tripping Sakumo easily, as he couldn't find the chakra to steady himself.

A cloaked figure leapt behind a short pine and headed for Seichi, Masago, and the unconscious Nikure. "Go," Sakumo said. Hizuren quickly launched a counterattack from his angle, and went after the figure. Sakumo's head pounded him before he could think of a way to help. Hizuren's attack had succeeded, and Murasaki was using an earth-style jutsu—Seichi, an earth wall to secure their convict from the attacker—the figure seemed to be using wind—Sakumo felt no breeze where he was as he saw Murasaki's headscarf wave in the air.

Through the haze that clouded him, Sakumo felt something coming up behind him. He turned around and saw no one. He looked back to the fight, and then completely paranoid, he turned around again:

Mohore was there, a smile on his face, and piercing brown eyes.

Sakumo looked down and saw a needle halfway in his arm.

The man held the teen, and disappeared.

The cloaked figure could not reach Nikure. The three shinobi were effective in battling him.

Sarutobi watched him make a hand sign—the shadow disappeared.

"What the hell was that about?" Seichi asked tensely.

"…Don't know," Hizuren caught his breath. "I've never seen someone control wind like that. Murasaki…are you ok?"

She nodded. "It's just a scratch. You?"

"Fine," he said. He looked behind him and did a double-take: he could not see Sakumo anywhere. "…Sakumo!" he shouted, running back. "…Sakumo!"

**.**

The teen woke up slowly, on the ground, feeling gravity pulling him down against the dirt and brown needles. He felt it intense and high on his shoulders and head, he could sense he was on a high elevation of the mountain—high and shaded, and dark. A blue night was around him—his head would not let him stand, so he sat upright, slowly, looking around an empty forest. It was a square clearing, maybe fifteen yards across, ten wide. He looked on four trees around the area, there were indigo color seals—four of them on four trees. He squinted beyond that and saw another five or six yards away, another blue seal. Eight seals. Only one explanation came to mind courtesy his captain's words and experience; a reverse perimeter barrier. Sakumo was boxed in.

Finally, the teen realized his pack was gone, and his kunai and weapons, the coiled grey scroll—frantically, he felt the back of his waistband and briefly sighed relief. They had not found the jackknife he kept in a hidden pocket on the band. He supposed it was the one thing he had to use to his advantage. He kept waiting for his headache to clear so he could at least have a chance of feeling lucid. Sakumo instantly empathized with his sensei's dislike of his work. Dalzen was the best at it, and Sakumo had never seen his captain show pain from it. The teen felt alone—his captain, nor anyone else, was with him now.

But Sakumo looked up, and he sensed something coming towards him. He recognized it as the grey figure—only blue seals now at his shoulders, chest, and presumably, his back—the only way to pass through a reverse barrier. The seals, with the user's chakra, numbed the effects of whatever trap was there; fire, a gas, needles, wind—mainly fire was used. It was an old technique of protecting shrines or important buildings in the middle of wars—Sakumo wasn't sure Dalzen or Hizuren would know how to do it when used in this fashion.

The figure removed the hood, and Sakumo saw a man with black hair, and small brown eyes. There was a blue-color mark under his left eye, like a tattoo, in the curve shape of a sickle, curving down. He entered the cage calmly and studied the boy. "Evening," he said politely, with a small, but a soft voice. "What is your name?"

Sakumo tightened his mouth behind his mask, he stood up slowly, in silence, temporarily forgetting the pressure in his head.

"What is your name?" he asked again.

"Who are you?"

"No, no…You answer one of my questions, and I'll answer one of yours. Now, what is your name," he said patiently.

The teen hesitated. "Hatake…Sakumo," he said. "Who are you?"

"I am Zensare, Jun. Rogue of the north. Please to meet you, Hatake, Sakumo…How old are you?"

He hesitated again. He wondered how he should answer. "…Twenty."

"Twenty? You seem a little too short for a twenty-year old. Perhaps…more closer to fifteen?"

"…Eighteen," Sakumo swallowed, hoping he could get away with a couple years above. "Who are you really, and who…" he remembered the face of the man that took him. "Do you…work with Mohore? Is he—Is he your representative?"

"Mohore is my messenger."

"Are you—"

"My turn," he said dismissively. "I am surprised someone as young as you was able to break through Nikure's bloc and scan him. What is your rank in the leaf?"

"…Jounin."

"I see…" the man seemed intrigued.

"Are you…the one that destroyed the wind temple?"

"Yes."

Sakumo stared. He fought the urge to step back. "Why?! Why in the hell did you do that?! You're a murder! Do you have any idea of what you—"

"Calm down, calm down," Jun dissuaded. "Now I'd like to ask you something. Why didn't _you_ destroy it."

"…What…?"

"Why didn't you destroy it, Hatake Sakumo, eighteen years, jounin of hidden leaf in the land of fire. Why not?"

Sakumo did not understand his meaning. "You're…insane."

"Why am I insane?" Jun questioned the boy's indignance. "I am insane by your standard? By Suna's standards? By the world's standards? Am I really truly that popular to receive such scorn? Am I really truly, 'insane'…?"

"…Yes!" Sakumo exclaimed. "You're crazy—a murdered for killing those people! You're a maniac!" Sakumo felt his body shake, charged with his own fear and astonishment. This was the man that leveled the old wind temple in area thirty-seven. If he could level that, Sakumo was an ant, in comparison. He quickly looked at the seals again until he saw Zensare pull a small piece of paper from an inside pocket beneath his grey cloak.

"…What is that?" Sakumo asked wearily.

"Please," he said, "Take it."

Jun held it out, and Sakumo searched it with his eyes: it bore no words, but it was folded over.

"Please," he said, "It will not harm you."

Slowly, Sakumo decided to take it—prepared if it were a trap. He stepped back and looked it over, unfolding it, finding nothing inside. Anxiously, he felt the chakra in him rise and touch the paper…

The paper crinkled.

Jun smiled sharply. "…You're a rai-type. Very, very interesting. You must have some mastery of that, too."

Sakumo scolded himself for being tricked. He crumpled the paper further, and let it fall on the ground.

"I am wind, myself. That's how I was able to…level the area, so well."

Sakumo winced, and then thought suddenly; _my father was wind_. "…Why…" he heard himself say. "Why did you do it."

"A message…needed to be sent."

"…That's it…? That's…" Sakumo shook his head; he had to get out of the cage, and run.

"Hatake Sakumo, of the leaf, eighteen, so you say—will you hear me out?"

"No," Sakumo answered immediately without thinking. "No, I won't," Sakumo suddenly ran to his left, and stopped, thinking, if he could damage his seals, _he'd be stuck in here with me._ It was a useless concept for his own self, but at least it would make it easier for Sarutobi and the others to capture him.

Zensare sighed and drew two blades—one, a kodachi, about sixteen inches in length, and the second, a black kunai, which he threw at Sakumo's feet.

Sakumo picked it up and remembered what Dalzen had always said, _if you must fight a wind type, remember his weapons will be longer than they appear. Remember to stay away, and fight long-distance. The chakra can sear your network._

Sakumo used substitution. Frequently. He used it continually, as he was on the defensive. The man's speed was real, and aim long and accurate. He used the wind gust from the blade to stop the boy from running so much, but Sakumo ran anyway. His strength was not in full yet. Sakumo had underestimated how much the mind scan had tolled on him—flesh activation was not something he had the stomach for, nor could he send chakra anywhere, but to his feet. He aimed at getting close, in the right moments, to try and mar the blue seals on the cloak.

Sakumo eventually succeeded in marring the two on the man's shoulders—to his own surprise, but that still left the ones on the front and back. The man finally stopped moving, leaving Sakumo the chance to quickly catch his breath.

"…Why are you not fighting me?" Zensare asked him curiously.

"…Because, you could kill me, if you wanted to."

Jun smiled, a little. "It is not my intention to kill you. I only wanted to see your skills. You made jounin for substitution?"

Sakumo smiled to himself. "Sure did…" he said without thinking.

"…Fascinating," the man said. "You do it well."

Sakumo suddenly had an idea. He could use a clone—though it'd appear to be another substitution . But the clone would be in this rai-element, holding the man's blade and arm in place until the static dispersed. Sakumo could use the interval to use the kunai and aim at the seal in the center of the man's chest, possibly getting him along with it if he were fast enough in his strike. But Sakumo knew he'd have to use substitution a few more times to ensure to the man his tactics had not changed. So Sakumo performed a substitution jutsu and took off and waited for the right moment. Perhaps he really could drive the blade hard enough…

After a few minutes, Sakumo produced the clone in guise of another substitution. Sakumo escaped up high and the man took the bait—the clone dispersed not into an object, but to pure lightning. Sakumo came down just as the light faded, and stabbed the man straight in the chest. But Sakumo quickly sensed something was wrong as he pulled the blade out—Zensare disappeared in smoke, and behind the teen, he appeared again, holding a blade at the teen's throat. "…Not quite," Jun said.

Sakumo cursed at himself. "So do it…kill me."

Jun's blade withdrew.

Sakumo turned his kunai on him, in a flush of anger and futility.

Their blades locked—Sakumo could feel a heat twinge his neck. It was the wind chakra. Sakumo forced lightning down his end, and static flecked out, charging the air between them. The man pushed harder, and so did Sakumo. He noticed Zensare's foot drew back, and so he drew his own—they jumped and separated in opposite directions.

A heavy feeling settled into Sakumo's head again, rising nausea in his throat, that was already stinging painfully due to the man's chakra. He cursed himself for not resting when Murasaki had offered it the first time. Maybe by now, he would feel his senses again, and his chakra. The teen did not hear Zensare approach until the man was four feet away. Sakumo shifted his feet, but that same heat came down at the other side of his neck. Sakumo thought about the jackknife hidden away at his waist, but they were too close now. Disoriented, Sakumo barely felt something pierce his arm before the forest went black.

**.**

Sakumo woke up in a heavy, thick blanket of darkness.

He was low, somewhere damp, the gravity was intense, and the air, thin and cold. He looked around, slowly rising, trying to shift his eyes to some light. He saw dirt and ground in four close walls—a five foot by five foot cell—wood was there, brown and wet. Light came down from a square pocket twenty-five feet above him. He was suddenly reminded of his grandfather and great grandfather…: it was an old miner's shaft.

He started shaking.

Sakumo closed his eyes and focused on breathing. He took several deep breaths and looked up. The wooden beams extended upwards and Sakumo looked around him. He ignored his stomach and put chakra to his feet, and forced himself to climb up and see where he was.

He pushed himself up, slowly. He raised his head to see the beams extend up about three or four feet from the ground level, red and white seals in their center—he realized it too late and his hand came up, he felt it singe and burn. He tried not to fall, but his feet staggered, and he lost his balance. The fall hurt him more than his hand.

"…Did you catch fire?" he heard a man say curiously. "No? Good."

Sakumo looked up and saw Zensare without his cloak, wearing a blue shirt—the same color of his mark, and white sleeves, and grey-color pants. Sakumo sat there and cradled the seared skin and his leg. From what he could tell under his hazed mind, the air was thinner still, and he felt the man must have moved further up the mountain. How far, Sakumo still could not determine.

"…Will you hear me out? The man looked over.

Something else stung Sakumo—it was at his eyes. He looked away. "Guess I have no choice…" he muttered.

"What was that?"

Sakumo felt helpless. "Oh go to hell!" he said loudly. _Or come down here,_ he thought grimly.

"I like your sense of humor;" Jun said. "Your sense of justice is very admirable…but it is irrelevant, now," he informed.

Sakumo was boxed in, but he didn't feel like sitting around and playing word games. He let go of his right hand, and felt the jackknife still there at his waist on his back-side. He felt easier it was still there. "My…justice…" Sakumo repeated. "It's because you're a criminal!"

"By your standards."

"By…oh…" Sakumo cursed. Every criminal, even far back to the land of mist and fog in the diary, believed, in their minds, their actions were warranted.

"Hatake Sakumo, curiously 'eighteen', of hidden leaf, may I ask you something?"

Sakumo looked up and said nothing.

"In reality, you may be too young to answer…but…what would you want, if you could have anything in the world?"

Sakumo hesitated. The man was trying to bait him. And Sakumo thought, ignoring the pain in his hand _…I'd want my father back._ The teen looked away and shook his head, smiling faintly, knowing no one could ever grant that to him. His left hand touched the jackknife again, and took a breath to clear his mind.

"…Well?"

Sakumo looked up. "You can't give it to me," he said loudly. "Because…it was the only thing that mattered," he said to himself.

Zensare laughed. "What? You want next week's forecast? Next week's lottery numbers? Or…did someone die…?"

Sakumo stood up slowly and brushed his pants of the loose dirt, trying to ignore the aches in his ankle. "You will not change me. I don't care what in the hell you say," he said clearly. "You will not brain-wash me with your mind games. I am well-versed in what you're trying to do, and I won't stand it, so just forget it." The teen slumped back against the dirt wall and leaned on it, hoping to recover strength to break out.

"Well…if you know what I am trying to do so well…" Jun smiled. "Then you should know I am incredibly patient towards a new student, and hunger will force you out. And you will thrive…upon the bread of my ideas."

Sakumo glared up at him. He couldn't fathom living in a world of no right, and no wrong. The very idea was liberal, in essence. Sakumo's head had been pained enough. He had to think of a way to break the four seals, or he would die—whether by hunger or acceptance.

Zensare left the view up top—presumably to leave the boy alone for a while, and Sakumo pondered: clones were out of the question, and the jackknife couldn't help him now. Even if he succeeded in getting out of the shaft, there was still Zensare himself, and possibly Mohore around, somewhere with his needles. So Sakumo decided on flesh activation to his hands—with his chakra, he could disable the seals quietly while he stuck to the wood using his feet. Assuming he made it out unscathed, he formulated an idea to use a clone in ruse of substitution, the same as he'd done before. He could wait in a tall pine, and draw the jackknife on Jun. That is…if he was unable to run…Sakumo shook his head. _You must do this,_ he told himself, _It's the only way to get out of this darkness._

Sakumo was slightly sensitive to chakra, and after the man had gone, he sensed nothing above him. Shivering in the cold, he waited a few more minutes and stood upright, swiping at his pants one last time. He rubbed his hands on his sleeves to get them clean. The dark shaft was unnerving him, but he tried to draw on his captain's old sense of calm—Dalzen, to his knowledge, had never panicked, Sakumo shouldn't either. Even in his youth…Sakumo remembered, his captain was capable. The teen pushed away his apprehension as he sent his chakra to his feet and climbed up slowly. As his head reached the top, he leaned back and turned: he had to do this quickly, or he may not get another chance. He sent chakra to his hands and touched one of the beams—his rai-chakra seared the seal, and quickly, he maneuvered himself around to the next. And then the third. And the fourth. Sakumo gathered his chakra and jumped, and he landed on the ground in the open air. He saw a cabin—an old wooden cabin. The two were just coming out—Jun and Mohore.

Sakumo ran.

Zensare stopped him with a taijutsu hit on his back, and Sakumo skidded. Quickly, he used substitution, in ruse of the clone. Sakumo jumped high in the tall pines and un-pocketed the jackknife—Jun had quickly disposed of the clone's lightning, jumping back, and Jun turned, knowing where the boy was. Sakumo unfolded the blade, and the two leapt toward each other—

Jun had the kunai in his hand, but Sakumo had been faster, with gravity, and Sakumo and the short blade came down hard on the man—the knife went in the man's chest with a flash of white light.

Gravity let them fall, and Sakumo fell with him, and fell horribly wrong—Zensare's kunai was loose and gashed the boy's thigh as Sakumo twisted sideways as he hit the ground hard on his left side.

Pain drug the boy under from all consciousness.

**.**

"Anything?"

Murasaki opened her eyes.

Morning light filtered through the pines.

"There's a cabin…house…of some kind, ahead. We…she saw blood, near it."

Sarutobi ran ahead.

They reached the cabin, and the shaft. Sarutobi, on guard, peered over and adjusted his eyes to the darkness. He knelt down, looking curiously until he suddenly gasped. "…Sa…" He carefully jumped down into the shaft—Sakumo laid there, in his own blood. "…Mura—here!" He said while quickly getting out his pack.

**.**

They took the boy to the border town, just south, southwest, where the suna ninja had their own medical station. They gave the teen a transfusion there. Murasaki called for her old partner by carrier bird, and Hideki came up the next day to scan the teen's memory. He then showed Murasaki and Sarutobi himself a little of what happened.

Sakumo woke up Friday evening.

Murasaki smiled. "Oi, Sakumo," she cooed quietly. "How're you feeling…?"

It took a while to realized he was not on the mountain.

"It's ok," she said softly. "You're safe now…Saru and Seichi are off tracking the man—Mohore. Rest easy, now, it's all right…We know what happened to you."

Sakumo felt intense cold, and little else.

"It's all right," she said again. "Just rest now."

Sakumo closed his eyes listening to her gentle voice and in the darkness, remembered Zensare. Sakumo opened his eyes. He didn't know, "…What happened?" he croaked—his throat was dry.

"You…killed Zensare."

"I…what…?"

"Easy," she said.

"…What…" he asked again blankly. "No…way…" he murmured—"The…The knife…where's…oh God—where is it…?!"

"Your…knife?"

"The jackknife—Oh God—where is it…?!" Sakumo panicked.

"Easy now—um…It must be with…Mohore…He took Jun's body. Hizuren and Seichi are tracking his trail now—whoa, easy," She watched him pound the sheet as hard as he could with his left hand. Sakumo's left leg felt like it was on fire. "…God!" he called out, sobbing, _"No!"_

Sakumo cried, "…No! No, no, no…!"

"Hey, easy," she leaned and stopped his movements. "They'll get it back, try not to worry."

Sakumo sobbed again as loud as his body would allow. The pain of himself losing that blade was more than he could stand. He cried, scolding himself, cursing inwardly at himself, "…No!"

Murasaki had never seen the boy this emotional. He was always a quiet, obedient little kid. But Masago had never remembered him keeping a jackknife with him. She didn't have to guess it meant something dear to him. "It's ok," se soothed. "We'll find it—I promise. That…and Mohore."

That evening, after Sakumo cried himself back to sleep, she walked outside on a cold night on the border, the land of wind's side. Murasaki watched her hawk in the distance fly closer and approach. It circled around and screeched. It dropped low and she held out her arm. Her connection with the summon let her see what it had seen.

Sarutobi and Seichi were still on the mountain—the north-east side, near the land of rain. She let the hawk search her mind about Sakumo and the jackknife, and her intentions of following them as backup. She knew the terrain well, she would catch up quickly if she ran. Murasaki opened her eyes and let the hawk fly. Quickly, she went and told Hideki to watch over Sakumo. And then, she left in the night.

The next night, he woke up to an un-pretty site: Hideki sat there, pen in hand, writing in a magazine. "Oh look at you, sunshine," he said without looking over. "'You gotta' four letter word for 'annoyance'?"

Slowly, Sakumo looked at him. The man hadn't changed from the last he saw him—sandy-brown hair and warm brown eyes—a tall and tough exterior, or so he always tried to exude.

"And what's a four letter word for 'demote'?" Hideki looked again at 'annoyance'. "Oh—shoot—it's 'pest'…" he scribbled the word in the boxes. "God I am so bad at these!"

"…Where…is…"

"Masago? She went off to help your friends. She stuck me in here with you, and you in here with me. Ha ha—Oh I'm pathetic…" He looked down at his puzzle. "I'd really hoped your sensei would have been along. I think I've learned a few new tricks. I think I've smartened—God, that is a scary thought. You know, I spent fourteen days in the Shiroi desert, just south of here, and I had an epiphany. I saw a…a deep, rich, blue ocean, right out there, in the middle…and I ran towards it, I remember. It was a rich, blue, cool sea…and you know? I jumped in it. I was so drained, I jumped. I jumped, and I'm _still_ picking out a few grains of sand every now and then for the hell of it. It bleached my hair a few shades," he said disapprovingly, "I know it did. You know what I learned? You _never_ spend fourteen days, in the Shiroi desert. Ever. It'll knock your socks off," Hideki chuckled to himself. He looked at Sakumo, who was in tears. "Oh—Lord—Sakumo!"

"I have to help them…" he murmured, twitching his taped right hand. "I have…to find the blade…I just have to get it back…"

The teen tried to force himself up—his upper body rose, but his left leg seemed numb. "…Whoa," Hideki closed his puzzle book; "You ain't going anywhere, just take it easy."

"I can't!" Sakumo said. "I have to find that blade!"

"Look, I'm sure Masago and the others can do it well enough, just calm down. You know, you lost a terrible amount of blood, you need to lie down or you're just going to wear yourself out."

Sakumo shook his head. He remembered the dark shaft, and Zensare…Mohore. Mohore had his knife, and everything else, including the grey scroll Keiko-san had given him. "He's got it—Mohore has my jackknife. He has everything—I need to get it back."

Hideki stopped him once more by taking a strong hold of the boy's shoulder.

"Hideki-san…I'm sorry. But you can either help…or let go."

The man had never seen the boy this adamant.

Reluctantly, the man helped him. _Mura is gonna beat me,_ he thought. The teen had a haunted look in his eyes—Sakumo never felt the loss so deep until he lost that knife. He needed it. He needed what was his.

Sakumo walked slowly with a walking stick, and then rested on Hideki's back.

It was a long way back to the mountain, and an even longer and more arduous ascent. Tuesday evening, March the first, Hideki and Sakumo reached the cabin. Hideki let him off his back and Sakumo slowly peered over the dark shaft and the four broken seals. He shuddered and saw the bloodstains still on the ground around him. He wasn't sure what they were from, but they started near the forest and stopped at the shaft.

"…Sarutobi found you in there," Hideki explained.

Sakumo turned and stared with wide eyes. His mouth opened beneath his mask, but he remained silent. He looked back at the red dirt.

A moment passed in silence.

Sakumo walked slowly and carefully towards the cabin. Hideki stood by him. It was dark and vacant, nothing inside save a table and two chairs. "…Well," Hideki complimented, "Miner's retreat…nice cabin."

Sakumo winced. He did not like this place.

Wednesday morning they set out again.

Sakumo felt easier as they moved away from the dark shaft. The teen followed as close s he could with the walking stick—the two spotted Murasaki's hawk high in the sky, further up the mountain, a taupe wingspan, it circled tediously.

Mid-afternoon, as they started the journey again, they saw the landscape change almost thirty yards up the mountain—it was an earth wall, a great blow of wind broke it. Sakumo and Hideki saw Sarutobi and Seichi up there, and then Murasaki, but there was another man there on the offensive—black hair, a grey cloak…

"Who is that…?" Hideki said aloud. "It can't be…"

Sakumo squinted, but he could no see. "…I don't know," he said quietly, "But I think I have an idea."

"Hold up, you ain't doing nothing," Hideki watched the fight—"I'll go. You, stay here."

Reluctantly, Sakumo nodded.

Hideki slipped away, unseen, to try and catch Murasaki's attention.

The cloaked figure performed a massive wind juutsu, it scythed the pines; Sakumo saw it hit Seichi at an angle, sending him backward.

The teen could not stay put.

He felt for his chakra, and it was there. He stole away in the opposite direction Hideki had gone—Sakumo moved stealthily to the right, and quickly, behind the scattered pines, to avoid detection. Finally, he reached Seichi as Sarutobi engaged the cloaked figure…who looked exactly like Jun.

"…Sakumo!?" Seichi exclaimed.

"Quiet! Tell me—is that Jun?!"

Seichi moved himself further behind the twisted pine. "This guy…is his twin. You killed the real deal."

"…What?!"

"They were identical twins, the Zensare brothers—this one's 'Shou'."

"What?!"

"Yeah I know—damn confusing. Sakumo…do you have enough chakra for an earth wall?"

"Yeah—I think so."

"Ok, do a strong one—dense as you can…Hizuren and I will get him."

Sakumo nodded.

"Divert his attention…" Seichi watched Masago and Hideki's combination get reversed by wind. "…Let me get out and signal Saru…" Seichi readied his feet. "Ok, now!"

Sakumo moved out left, and Seichi went straight.

The cloaked man saw Sakumo, and suddenly shouted, "You! You're the boy I saw!" Shou's tantou came around and he criss-crossed them. "You killed him!" The man leapt instantly and Sakumo was already kneeling on the ground—Shou's chakra released as he released the blades—Sakumo created the wall, and felt the enormous pressure hit that and him like a loud hammer. Sakumo fell backward as the wall crumpled—Sarutobi and Seichi arrived in time with their kunai—the man in his rage and power spent could not fight against it.

Shou fell—kunai in him.

"…Sakumo! What the hell!" Hizuren exclaimed.

Seichi let loose a smile, he walked over and helped the teen up. Sakumo wiped some dirt from his forehead with his left hand and he turned around in shock. 'Shou' was an exact copy of Jun, save, a blue tattoo in curve of a scythe…under the reverse eye. "...What the _hell_…" the teen repeated his captain's words.

Sarutobi, seeing Sakumo was relatively fine but bewildered for the moment, bent down and searched Shou's pockets behind the grey cloak.

Hideki moaned as he saw the teen, "Sakumo, I _told_ you to stay _there!"_

Masago appeared swiftly by the teen's left side—he saw her hawk come down and rested on a tall lonely pine that had been spared the wind's fury. "…Hey, have you got the wonder pill or something?" Murasaki smiled.

"Well…I'm sorry, but somebody please explain to me…they were…twins…?"

She nodded. "The Zensare brothers…once I remembered. They're quite wanted in Iwa, in the land of stone," she said. "At least, they were. And yes…they were twins. 'Wind brothers'…I believe the term was," she looked up at Hideki.

Sarutobi suddenly smiled.

"And what…what happened to Mohore?"

"He disappeared after he brought Jun's body to Shou," Sarutobi said, "It's just over the mountain…Shou swore vengeance on you, but…" He'd pulled out two items, one of them, a grey scroll in hiragana, the other…Hizuren walked up to Sakumo and unclasped his hand:

A white, ivory carving looked up at him.

Sakumo stared—he quickly glanced up at Hizuren, and he looked back down.

Sakumo began to cry. "…Thank you," he said, tears in his eyes; a sob still stuck in his throat. He took the jackknife and held it in his hand.

He didn't remember much of the trip back.

Sakumo woke up three days later in the Sunagakure village.

He'd only been to the actual village twice—he woke up in a warm yellow glow of light, though a blue dusk filmed the rectangle windows. The light was an off-yellow, mixed with carnelian orange, somewhere above him. It was a calm contrast as he heard a howling wind blow outside, banging metal and other aluminum objects every now and then. It whined through the streets mostly and he looked—but he saw a small grey scroll and an ivory article on the stand beside him. He raised his right hand and took the smaller object and held it up to his eyes:

The wolf was there, still watching.

Sakumo smiled—a lump settled somewhere in his throat. He tried not to cry, but tears came down silently anyway.

He looked up went he heard a door open—it was his team captain. Hizuren stopped in and smiled. "Hey…how are you?"

Sakumo smiled and nodded—he felt weak, but intact. The dizziness had finally gone.

Sarutobi took a seat beside his bed on a metal chair. "I'm sorry, Sakumo," he said.

"…For what?"

"For asking you to come along—It was too soon for you, I'm sorry."

Sakumo slowly shook his head. "I'm just sorry…for getting caught," he remembered. "I'm sorry."

Sarutobi grinned. The whole of Suna was shocked a sixteen year old from Konoha killed the man who destroyed the old wind temple with just a simple jackknife driven through his chest. Hizuren nodded at the jackknife in Sakumo's hands, lying on his chest. "Did…your father give you that?"

Sakumo nodded. "It…means something to me—It means, quite a lot," he said. He turned and looked at the scroll on the maple stand—Keiko had given him it, he'd almost forgotten he had it with him. He looked back to the pocket knife. Both objects were given to him out of love. And Sakumo, fresh from his agony of losing his father, could not bear to have it lost, ever. He supposed it was the last object other than his memories that represented his father's love. Sakumo could look at it and remember that morning. He could remember going to the general store in his youth, at his father's side. It was a reminder, of that love between them.

Sakumo gripped it securely and smiled—the air stung his eyes.

"Well, I have a confession…" Hizuren said to him.

Sakumo looked at him curiously.

"I have…a fascination with legends," the man said. "Senju Hashirama, and Senju Tobirama taught me quite a few legends and stories from their day…And I confess, I heard of the water country mission one day, and it intrigued me. It intrigued me that one of the members…left the village. I became acquainted with your sensei, Ichida-san and Keiko-san, but I was so curious as to why your father had not stayed. Nidai told me, in short, Coushander…could not bear that life anymore. And the more I'd think about it, the more I wanted to meet him, but…the only chance I got was almost two years ago—I expressed interest in training Jiraiya—and I finally met your father then, with Keiko. He would not talk about the land of mist—but he was kind enough to admit to me that it changed him, deeply. And I was grateful, I was able to meet him," Sarutobi looked at Sakumo. "I think he was a very brave man for all he endured. And still…" Hizuren looked away. "I wish every shinobi may not meet that end. Nidai told me (in the strictest confidence) that his older brother was affected by Coushander's actions, very much so. For to him…everyone in the village was a part of him, and he did not wish to see them suffer. Suffering brings despair, and despair invites darkness, and darkness…" He shook his head, "I've seen it already…and now…I think you have, a little. Are you sure you're all right? And I don't mean physically."

Sakumo nodded slowly, looking back at the jackknife. "…I think so."

"Well…if you ever need help…in dealing with what you've seen…you have people around you, who can help you. Feel free to talk to me—and I am sorry."

"No, don't be…I needed to do it. Again…I'm just very sorry I got caught."

Hizuren smiled. "Yeah, well…Be prepared—I'm trying to keep you from Suna officials—they want to see you…Your name's…a little popular around here right now."

"You mean…about Jun?"

Sarutobi nodded.

"Are you sure he's dead?"

"We brought his body back, along with Shou's. He's still alive—held up tight back in the border town where he'll face his trial and go to prison. But…you killed Jun."

"…Then that was a fluke," Sakumo readily denounced. "That was a fluke…pure and simple, I don't know…" He shook his head. "I guess I don't know how that happened."

Sarutobi smiled.

"No—he wanted me…I think he wanted me to…be a student or something—join him. That's why he didn't just kill me outright—but…Oh, but, what happened to…Mohore?"

Sarutobi thought, "Well…he disappeared after he gave Jun's body to Shou at their place up in the mountain, and he gave him your knife there. I don't know where he went. It's still a mystery."

"Hmm…" Sakumo sighed.

"Well, get some—"

The door burst open, and then Hideki closed it quickly, locking the handle and a small latch. "God!" he exclaimed. "It's a mad-house! The whole of Suna's been prodded! There!" he pointed at Sakumo. "There is your four letter word right there!"

Sakumo smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Hideki-san."

The man laughed to show he was joking. "Heh, sorry Sakumo. But you should try and sneak away if you value…"

Hideki noticed a head of a sand shinobi creep into the frame of one of the windows and peer inside. "Oh fuck you!" Hideki walked over and close the two blinds on each of the windows. "Now where was I—oh yes, 'privacy'. Ha ha…Oh dear…" he said, sighing, "We've gotta problem."

"What, there's more people hanging out, out there?" Sarutobi asked.

"That, and the local lord in area thirty-six. He wants to give Sakumo a medal for killing Jun."

"You're right…" Sakumo said, as he looked up at Sarutobi, "…When can we leave?"

Hizuren smiled lopsidedly. "Oh brother…"

"Oh and it gets worse. The lord wants to invite him to stay for a couple nights."

Suddenly, the door handle jiggled behind Hideki. "Go away!" he said loudly.

"It's me, you idiot!" Masago said.

"How do I _know_ you're Masago?"

She thought. "You suck at crosswords, you tell people you're twenty-nine when you're thirty-one, and you've got a scar on your left ankle from a door mat you tripped over when you were twelve."

Hideki looked…perturbed. "Which…ankle?"

"Your left."

_"Dammit!"_ he muttered. He opened the door, and her and Seichi came in. Hideki shut the door quickly. He stared at Masago, "Did you _have_ to be _that_ specific!"

She grinned and smiled as she came to Sakumo's left side, opposite Hizuren, and she sat on the bed, "Are you ok, Sakumo?"

He nodded.

"I was just tellin' him what our bakayaro over there wants to do."

"Well I'm sure he'd extend the invitation if you told him how you valiantly carried Sakumo back to the med station."

Hideki scoffed. "On that loser? I wouldn't be caught dead!"

She grinned, "Oh really?"

"Well," Hizuren interjected. "I'd rather not create an incident…I'd…_We'd_ rather go quietly."

"Right," Murasaki nodded. She looked at Sakumo with a smile. "Are you good at transformation jutsu…?"

**.**

The return trip was three days.

They made it back Friday, March the eleventh. Sarutobi went off to file the report, and Sakumo checked the clock and thought maybe if he ran…

He saw Jiraiya's mother waiting for her boy, and Sakumo saw the young boy, just as he came out—Jiraiya also saw him, and gasped, "Sakumo!" Keiko turned around and saw the teen. Jiraiya ran up to hug his brother—"Sakumo!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Sakumo!"

The teen laughed, and smiled at his brother's excitement and affection. "Hi, there," he said.

Keiko grinned, "Well…hello there."

Sakumo smiled—he hugged her as well.

"…When did you get back?" she asked as they broke apart.

"Oh, just five minutes ago."

"Are you ok? You look a little pale…"

He smiled, and nodded. "I'm ok," _I'm home,_ he thought. His eyes got wet as he looked at them both.

Keiko held his shoulder as they walked back.

Sakumo never felt more content.

**.**

News traveled fast. It was, perhaps, the only thing that could outrun a shinobi. Kano knew what the teen had done before he could explain it himself—he didn't really wish to talk about it anyway. So he asked her to tell him any news of home.

Kano had found a prospective buyer for his father's old home at the ravine, and she wanted Sakumo to meet him. She'd already explained to him about the graves, and she said he wouldn't mind however often they came down to lay flowers. But Keiko also said Coushander's gravestone had been laid there over a week ago.

Sakumo went with her, and Jiraiya, on Sunday, to see it.

The words filled him with grief all over again.

_Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest work is done.  
__Here rests a man who endured,  
__To the end—until the end._

**.**

Sakumo felt at home with Keiko and Jiraiya, but he knew he had to stay at his home—the one his father had built. The love he was given let him overcome his fear of the dark, and he felt easier. People knew his name, and he went on two more missions with Hizuren before the man settled back in the village before fall came, and took on the challenge of training his younger brother, and two other children his age.

Hence, Sakumo adjusted to life alone, and he kept up his father's business in the garden the way he used to, and Kosaka offered to help him reap the summer harvest. Sakumo could not lay in anything new by himself, so he left it bare, save the garden. And he went on missions with a Hyuuga, and others. And he carried on that way for two years, doing mundane things like patrols or guard duty…keeping the jackknife his father had given him, safely with him. He took on his summons from Kano, and he was glad she tried to warn him about the curious little grey dog…

But two years passed, and he was off on a mission near Suna, his first as captain, doing patrol duty, almost two and a half days away from Konohagakure…

"Teal! You are crazy!"

Teal smiled and folded his arms in an ordinary Konohagakure household in the middle of March. "But I talked to her father—"

"I don't care what Takato said—My son is a mad man!" Dalzen exclaimed. "What the hell do you think you are doing…!"

"Dad, I'm twenty-three—"

"You are still a child! What the hell are you taking?"

"I'm not going to marry him—I want to marry his daughter. You like Keiko."

"I like both of them, but that doesn't mean I want to marry them! God!" Dalzen exclaimed, shaking his head. "Why now?"

"So…we can look back in fifty years."

"Oh God…What the hell did I do wrong…?" Dalzen asked himself woefully. "I'm fifty-seven, I don't need this!"

Teal smiled.

**.**


	27. The Kicks And the Halfpence

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 27  
_**The Kicks And the Halfpence**_

**.**

**.**

Teal Morino had his mother's light, blonde-brown color hair and dark roots, framing his face in the same way as his father. He had intense dark eyes, and a wonderful smile, also in image of his father. He was tall, but not as tall as him, or his older sister, Hoshi. She took on her father's dark black hair and eyes, but her mother in face. She was his older sister, by two years. Both were Konohagakure shinobi, like their parents.

"…Teal," Dalzen sighed, "When I was your age, I was not thinking about marriage. In fact…I'd just come back from a very long mission—"

"And then you _met_ mom…"

"And then…oh! That's not the point. The point is, I wasn't thinking about…settling down. God, Teal, you're so young! Keiko is so young! What in the world are you thinking! You've got your career ahead of you!"

"My career…could just as well get me killed. It's best to pursue happiness now."

Dalzen gave him an odd, deeply perplexed look, as no one else could.

"…We're in love," Teal smiled romantically.

"Oh…!"

Dalzen could not believe his son was this dumbstruck.

**.**

As he went back into the Intel division that night, he saw Takato outside, and immediately apologized, "I'm so sorry," Dalzen said, "I have no idea what the hell is wrong with my son. When I find out, I will tell you, promptly."

Takato smiled unevenly. His old friend already looked stressed by a grand measure no young twenty-three year old could have caused. In two years, the Intel division and the interrogation ward had taken all the energy that was left in him—Takato was not the only one to start worrying about it. The lines on the Morino's face were deep and set. His hair, a pepper color now, still framing his face, and his dark eyes, too, seemed to have lost their warm depth and alacrity. "…It's all right," Takato shrugged with his arms folded. "My daughter won't budge either. 'True love' she told her mother, and she's said something about looking back in fifty years…?"

"Oh, God…"

Takato smiled in full, "Well if they want to be married that long…Teal is a pretty good young man. I should know," Takato added.

Dalzen closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "I'm trying," he said. "God—they're so darn young, I can't believe I raised that boy—Or maybe, I didn't…'You think there's still time to knock him around? …No? You're right." Dalzen sighed.

"…Are you all right?"

"…Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh—yes, I'm fine, why?"

"Well…I'm just worried about you. This job…has been taking a lot out of you—I hardly see you anymore."

"…Oh…I see," Dalzen said uneasily. "Well…this engagement thing…is troubling…but, I suppose you're right…about the work."

"Can't you take any leave? 'Clear your head?"

Dalzen smiled. "Well, I'm in the middle of an important case, I can't really do that. Speaking of which, I am due in there."

Takato frowned. "Well…be sure and come back out to us."

Dalzen nodded, "I will."

**.**

But two days later, that promise was broken.

They called Dalzen in on emergency.

His case—his young man was dying, of his own volition.

"…Sugita! Dammit!"

A medic was in the holding cell, trying to seal the self-inflicted wounds. It looked like burn marks across the young man's wrists. "Dalzen," his colleague said, "We need to know who was behind that partition. You need to break through. You must do it now—he won't make it."

"Damn, Sugita," Dalzen said. "Why'd you do this?"

The boy lied there on the bed, unresponsive.

"Dalzen," he urged. "Please, before it seals forever."

"…Give me room," he asked the medic.

He moved aside and Dalzen took his place on the bed, and laid a hand on the boy's mind.

After several minutes, he finally broke through.

Five minutes, he saw the man behind the curtain.

They said hello.

Seven minutes, the conversation flashed away from him and he saw Sugita, a young teen with a bright and clean face.

Eight minutes, Dalzen saw a door.

Nine minutes…Dalzen watched it opened.

Nine and a half…

Ten minutes……they were both long gone.

The Morino's hand slipped, and he slowly fell as gravity drug him down.

"Dammit!"

Interrogator Kitaro quickly scanned the man's mind. "…Got it!" he said. "…Medic!"

He was already on it.

**.**

Sakumo turned around from facing the building square and saw an owl flap down from nowhere. In broad daylight. It's yellow eyes blinked quickly, and so did Sakumo. He recognized it, and he slowly climbed up, and he untied a note on the little bird's foot. Sakumo dropped back down and opened it:

_Sakumo, my father has been injured, please come back as soon as you can. Teal._

The small brown owl hooted softly, and Sakumo stared.

Hoshu vanished.

Sakumo stared back at the note and felt something terrible settle in his mind.

He ran to his team.

"Oi, captain—"

"Look, I need…to go back to the village," he said, gripping the note tightly.

"What's wrong?"

"A…There's been…I need to go back—something has happened. It's about my sensei—I feel it's serious."

Dura looked up. "How serious…?"

Sakumo shook his head. "I don't know…I just got his owl. I don't know."

"Well," Shin said, "We're almost done here anyway…It won't matter."

"…Thank you," Sakumo said, and he turned in the opposite direction.

"…Hope it's not serious," Shin said.

"…Yeah," Dura said quietly. "Sensei…"

**.**

Sakumo ran fast as he could. The fact that Hoshu had appeared bothered him. To his recollection, Dalzen had only used the owl on extremely rare occasions, so few, Sakumo only remembered seeing him twice before. He ran all the way from west to east, and he made it there late the next evening, March twenty-first.

He went straight into the hospital ward with the note still in his pocket and inquired at the front desk. The man didn't know off-hand—but Keiko did: he saw her out the corner of his eye; she'd been about to go home. "Oh! Sakumo!"

He trotted over—"Where is he? What happened?"

"I'll take you to him, come on."

She led him up two flights of stairs.

His heart began to beat faster as they passed other rooms.

"In here…" she led, room thirty-eight. She opened the door and they walked in—Sakumo saw his captain lying there, on the bed; Chinatsu and Hoshi there, sitting in chairs, right beside him.

"…Sakumo…" Hoshi recognized.

He walked in slowly—Dalzen looked as if he were only sleeping.

Chinatsu stood up slowly, and walked to the end of the bed, glancing at Keiko, "Please tell him all we know…" she looked at Sakumo. "And you can talk to him," she said kindly, faintly smiling. Hina glanced at the bed. "You need talking to," she said quietly to her husband, "We must talk you back."

Hoshi stood and went with her mother, and they walked out, to leave them alone.

The door closed nearly all the way.

Slowly, Sakumo walked closer. A warm wind seemed to hit his bare face as he looked at Dalzen—his eyes closed, his body, still. Sakumo's collar felt warm.

"…I'm so sorry," Keiko said, her voice shaking. She took a breath and steadied herself. "But Dalzen…is in a coma."

His eyes widened and he whipped his head back around and stared in shock, mis-understanding her words.

Her eyes drifted away.

He looked back at Dalzen, merely sleeping.

"…What?" Sakumo murmured. "…How?"

"Yesterday…he was in the ward, scanning someone…and the person, was dying."

_…Death-bed scan,_ Sakumo remembered the term. Dalzen had coined it.

"…Then," she said, "He just…fell into it."

Sakumo's brow drew together as the warm air stung his eyes.

"And…" Again, Keiko caught herself and spoke, "He needs to come out of this soon," she said. "Or…" She shook her head. She didn't wish it.

Slowly, Sakumo moved his stiff frame and walked to the side of the bed, and sat on one of the chairs. _Sensei,_ he thought. Sakumo looked at her, and then to his captain. Dalzen's face seemed pale, and darker at the same time—haunted; imprinted with every terror and secret he'd uncovered in the past two years. Sakumo had not properly handled his venture into Nikure's mind, he couldn't imagine doing it regularly.

His captain's fortitude was immense.

Sakumo wrapped his fist and rested his chin to it—he felt emotion gripping him. 'Coma' was a strange and foreign word to him right now. _Wake up_, he thought, tears glazing his eyes. _Please wake up._

Sakumo stayed with him for a little while longer.

**.**

He walked with Kano back to her home, and she told him the story over, in better detail.

"But—can they tell if he'll wake up soon? Is there some way…?"

"Well, they're trying everything to…try and stimulate brain activity; with chakra therapy—they just started it today, but it didn't do anything. He's…deep into it—And he needs to pull out soon, or…"

"…Or…?"

"He…may not be the same," she said uneasily. "And it would take him so long to recover. We have to pray, it won't last. It's really all we can do."

Sakumo sighed.

Keiko looked at him. "…Hey, you didn't come home for your birthday," she said, and he looked at her; she smiled faintly.

Sakumo shrugged to himself. "…It's no big deal."

"Well…I think it is…Because, I had something for you."

"Oh—you don't have to."

She smiled in earnest. "It's not from me…it's from your father."

He stopped and stared at her blankly, "…What…?"

She took his shoulder and held it. "You'll see."

He walked in with her that evening, and she led him to a closet, with a safe.

It was a letter.

She smiled as she held it out for him. "He wrote this…for your eighteenth birthday."

The teen stared. His name was written in katakana, on the crisp white face of the envelope.

"Go ahead, it's yours."

Sakumo's hand shook as he held it:

_サクモ_

The air seemed warm here, too.

"…Thank you," he said, looking up at her. Sakumo stared back down at the envelope, not fully realizing yet what he was holding.

**.**

He went home and turned on the lights in his father's old, and small room. He curled up on the low shindai on the floor and stared at his father's handwriting. It was neater than usual, but his recognizably. Slowly, he turned it over an opened it, and unfolded the letter page:

_My dear Sakumotsu, I have no doubt the man you've become looks a little like myself, I'm sure, as Kano has told you more than once. She was the one who convinced me to write this letter to you; your brother will receive one in his own time. You're eighteen, and as Keiko persuaded, eighteen years demands a little more than what I can't give you now._

_Dalzen has told me you are incomparably talented for your age, and I can only assume you'll be a wizard by the time you open this. Hopefully you know now, either by me or the others, that I once knew a shinobi's way of life at your age, but not for long. I knew it as unimaginably hard and difficult, and I ended up suffering because of it. And it takes an unbelievably strong man to keep in that system. I am glad Dalzen was your teacher—he was a bit of a genius like you. He was strong, and the others I knew were so strong too, to stay in that system, and I hope you have learned from them. They are always there for you. And if you haven't already, read your uncle's words, and know he is watching over you as well. Your skill, I am sure, comes directly from him._

_So long as you continue as shinobi, I guess all I want to say is there is no guarantee of stability or sanity. It gets hard, I know…Besides a hard way under your hokage, it's a hard life to lead under God. You will make mistakes, maybe even a few big ones, but there is nothing wrong after the fall so long as you find a way to pick yourself up and go it again. You may find yourself so far from home, you may not remember where you belong, but remember, you have the love of those around you. Never abandon them as I did—cherish your friendships. Remember them Sakumo; Your mother once told me, 'Let the memories be your strength, not your weakness'. If you ever must part with them, hold them dear, and remember them for what they were. The path is always changing, I know, because life is change. And it is not fair, but things will work out. I learned that by my father, by example. Take the good and the bad—some days will be clear, some not. Twenty-five some odd years of fieldwork will teach you that, I know. But you have my confidence, and I hope the convictions you learned from me are strong in you. Never forget your principles. Courage will come on it's own. You, Sakumo, will be your own worst enemy. That was what my brother once told me. Of course he also told me I would be an old war horse. I was never thrilled with the idea, but I knew what he meant by it. And I think, in the end, he was right, in some way._

_I didn't mean to ramble, so there it is—and there it has been since long before you were born. My father might have said the same thing, given the chance, and I am sure Saru would have provided the swift kick in the knee. Don't live a life of regrets, Sakumo. And be careful out there. Forget the supernatural, men and men alone are quite capable of every wickedness this world presents; I hope you have not yet found out. I hope you never find out. But come what may, I know you'll be strong. Protect your brother and his name and be patient with him. It's a damn thing you two were so far apart, but there you are, and it's my fault entirely. So please be patient with him, I have no doubt he will look up to you all his life. He will come to you for advice, companionship, for strength, and for wisdom. You will be a big person in his life, don't be afraid to lead. Be afraid to follow…for you might never know who is making the decisions. Be your own person, and know who you are. Ask Dalzen sometime. He knows quite a bit about that. And someday…you may start a family—I hope you're not thinking about it anytime soon—you've got all the time in the world to start a family, trust me. But when you do, you may be lucky enough to have a child. Be there for him, everyday, no matter what it takes. Having you, I—Matsuko and myself could safely say any child is an absolute miracle…you were just a truly remarkable one. I made horrible decisions with you and namely, how I chose to live my life—in bitterness and ignorance. I hope you never question that I love you dearly with all I am, and I hope you can forgive me. I am sorry I missed so much of you._

_So, you're eighteen, happy birthday, Sakumo_

_with love, your father._

Sakumo's wet eyes slowly returned to the other side on the top of the page:

_My dear Sakumotsu,_

The words were the best present he ever received.

**.**

Sakumo went by the hospital the next morning, and re-traced his steps onto the second floor. He saw a tall man, and a shorter woman down the hall on the right. "…Teal?" he exclaimed.

"Sakumo!" Teal smiled. "How are you?"

"Good—and you?" Sakumo was surprised to see Keiko Ichida with him, she smiled, "Good morning, Sakumo," she said, blushing.

He grinned—Keiko looked like her father with her light hair, but her mother in her round, dark eyes.

Sakumo peered inside—the door was cracked open—Takato was there talking with Chinatsu and his step-mother. "…Is there…?" he wondered. Dalzen still lied there silently.

Teal shook his head.

"Oh…" Sakumo frowned. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I," Teal said with a heaviness in his voice. "My father…wasn't too happy with me…" He glanced down at Keiko, and looked at the teen and half-smiled, "We want to get married—we're engaged."

Sakumo blinked in surprise—"You two?!"

The couple looked at each other and smiled.

"…Oh my gosh!" Sakumo exclaimed.

Teal laughed, "You think we're crazy, too."

"No…well…no…! Just…! That's just a surprise, that's all!"

"Sure…" Keiko teased, smiling.

"Wow…" Sakumo found an odd smile, "…Congratulations!"

**.**

His team was back late that afternoon—Sakumo saw Dura in the office and the kid told him they'd finished their patrolling duty—Sakumo finished the report and returned it, and he told Dura everything Keiko had told him. Young Dura looked shocked.

"…Do you want to see him? I'll come with you."

Dura nodded.

There was still, no change.

**.**

The next day, Sakumo was summoned before a few members of the council—lead shinobi, most of them old, like the Hyuuga, Hiromasa, and another man Sakumo did not immediately recognize. But there was a young man there, about Sarutobi's age, Mitokado Homura. And in the middle, was Nidai. Sakumo was not aware he was at half-staff inquiries. The teen lowered his head a little nervously—he knew what this was about. He left his own team two days before their mission ended—his first as captain. Sakumo stood there, his head bent—unsure how bad he'd be scolded for it. The teen's heart slowly dropped as Nidai spoke to him, "Sakumo, I am a little disappointed in you. Your report indicated you left two days before your team was finished in it's duty—is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

Nidai frowned. "While your reasons…I understand, you must know that a captain is not to be subject to his personal compassion, or personal feelings. These are the rules, and they must be followed. Had you been reassigned, you would not have been summoned today. But," Nidai seemed to sigh, "This matter is a private one, and shinobi, while on duty, cannot be concerned with their private life—had this been a different kind of mission, we would punish you more severely. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fine. Then wait outside while this panel decides."

"Yes sir," Sakumo said quietly. The teen's mind was heavy. Apparently, his first reprimand was meant to dissuade him from any more rule-breaking…Sakumo understood it.

He was called back in before five minutes.

He kept his head down—his mask held in all his tension—he waited patiently and said nothing. Homura, was the one to speak; "Hatake Sakumo, it is the decision of this council in lieu of your actions, that you be de-commissioned from all active duty and be re-assigned to the training facility under Sogorie Sarin, for a period, of no less, than sixty days. Given…it is your only offence in your service, your rank will only be demoted one notch for a period of ninety days _following,_ where you will not be permitted to serve as captain in any capacity. And you will report to Sarin shortly—Is this understood?"

"…Yes, sir."

Nidaime nodded quietly, "You are dismissed."

Sakumo turned obediently and walked out of the conference room, a horrible feeling lurching into his gut. Despite the agony of where his feet were slowly leading him now, he could only think of his own captain—_…Please wake up, _he thought, with a faint and sad smile. As he walked, Sakumo haphazardly consoled himself with the thought maybe Dalzen would call him an idiot when he did wake up on coming back for his sake.

**.**

Sogorie Sarin took the offences of man as his own.

All of them.

There fore, he was frequently depressing, irritated (always by something), and incredibly moral. And Sakumo never had a problem adhering to the way he was brought up, not now, but Sarin's eyes were a cold cornflower blue and scolding, that made you think your grievances and trifles were of those that started wars. He wasn't arrogant, but a conscious man, a man by the book (to which indeed he knew every line since Sogorie Sarin had half-written it, himself). Reporting to him, was like reporting to a man who read all the dictionaries on weekends, pointing out the most fantastic discrepancies. Sakumo's captain had been the only other one to his knowledge, that could pay that much attention to detail. And like his sensei, Sarin's grey-haired head had not gone numb to it—he thrived on it, diligently, and quietly, with more incorrigible punks than Sakumo, behind wooden walls of an open building, and a dense and dark training forest out in back, where most of the exercises actually took place. But Sarin's group was always a special one—he only accepted those shinobi under twenty years old. Sakumo thought perhaps, one of the members in the council had it out for him, assigning him to this one, under Sarin.

Sarin never attended the inquiries, nor the council meetings—half-staff, full-staff, or otherwise, and he did not show his face anywhere in the village but his facility, and the occasional mission somewhere beyond his woods—and they were indeed his woods, and his rules.

But since Sakumo's punishment kept him in the village, he was able to see Dalzen every evening; so long as his legs would get him there. Sarin's methods were slightly more conventional—and aimed at fixing the young men's behavior, but there was a lot of running involved in the 'exercises' inside the forest…

He came in four days later—perhaps it was the momentum of running from a giant animal (he had no idea what it was—only that it was big) and the hard luck he received from two younger boys who switched out his canteen with a kunai via transformation jutsu. (They were allowed no weapons in their re-training.) Therefore, Sakumo inadvertently received punishment from Sarin that day. But he walked into the hospital and felt a little easier and anxious—he went up to Dalzen's room and saw Keiko and Chinatsu there.

"…Sakumo…" Kano turned and said with concern, "Are you ok?"

Sakumo had pulled down his mask and smiled, "Five days, fifty-five more to go…I'll be ok…I think…" He came up to the edge of the bed stiffly and lost his smile. Dalzen was still in the coma—his eyes closed, his body still. Sakumo knew it'd been seven days since the scan. _You have to wake up soon,_ he thought to himself.

Sakumo walked home with Keiko again when Hoshi came along to stay with her mother. The teen thanked her again for the letter. The woman smiled. "No, really…" he said, shaking his head. "I miss him so much—I cried all over again," he admitted quietly.

She smiled faintly, "I know the feeling. It's been two years…and still it hurts so much sometimes," she sighed. She looked at Sakumo and thought his pace was slowing. "Hey—are you sure you're ok?"

He smiled. "Well…let's just say…I'm counting the days…and reading that letter."

"Sakumo…"

He shrugged.

"You know I think that punishment was harsh," she said. "They could have let it go—It's not very fair."

"Well…" Sakumo watched the road. "I guess it was—justice is supposed to be blind."

"But it was one offence," she took surprise to his lack of ire.

"I…aborted a mission in their eyes—I left, to go back, because of what Teal wrote me—I had a bad feeling, I was worried…And I still am. God, I wish there was a way to wake him."

Keiko smiled briefly, thinking of Hina. "Chinatsu has been threatening him with a few things…it's so hard for her. She's scared, and so am I. Dalzen…has gone through so much in his life—he doesn't need this. And poor Teal…" she lowered her gaze, "…He's afraid too—everyone is."

"Well…" Sakumo thought, trying to figure out the problem, "Dalzen…I know he's done…'death-bed' scans before—why this time? I mean…I heard him once, talk about it to a man, but only in passing…Why this time did it…?"

"Dalzen…never liked the work they wanted him to do—and I've heard that before, but only from Hina. And she told me Dalzen only talked of it once to her—he'd named it that: a 'death-bed' scan where the information could only be accessed while the patient is alive—in very special cases, the information seals itself automatically after death as a safeguard…but if that patient is in the _physical_ process of dying…Hina told me that he said once to her, just a few years ago, that he said he'd only done it three times, and the way he described it…was like…a door, that opens, and the chakra is so powerful, it sort of…wants to pull you in with it…" she shook her head. "It's dangerous altogether, but…"

They stopped; "…So, you're saying…"

Keiko frowned. "Honestly, I'm not even sure what I'm saying, and neither is Hina. Only Dalzen knows that kind of experience, and how it affects you," she shook her head, "He never said if it pained him or not, he was never one to show his feelings…And now…he's suffering for it. And Hina was told…"

Sakumo looked expectant as she hesitated.

"She was told…there was no ninja in Konoha…that could offer any experience in overcoming it. Dalzen…is the only one. Now, she said Kitaro was working on contacting Suna, and anyone else he could—but…to date…no one else has ever done what Dalzen has."

Sakumo's heart had dropped inside his chest as the words sunk in—his legs became painful and stiff.

"…We have to hope, and we have to pray," she said softly.

He nodded slowly.

She smiled, "Go on home," she said quietly, "You've walked me far enough."

"…All right," he said, and sighed.

"Get some sleep."

"I'll try."

**.**

"…God…darn…" Sakumo said, "…You stupid kids…"

"…Sakumo?" Sarin stopped. He snatched the kunai Sakumo was holding dumbfoundedly. "Second time in two days," he snapped readily.

"I'm sorry sir—I guess I'm not safe choosing my canteen bottle…"

Whether Sarin understood him or not, the man sentenced the teen to run fourteen laps around the perimeter after the day's training. The teen's legs were already numb, but he did as he was told without any complaint. He swore he thought he saw something big moving on the northeast side—by the seventh lap around it finally attacked him: a large yellow tiger, dark brown stripes across it's face and body. Sakumo quickly used substitution, not wishing to harm it. He ran like mad. The eighth lap was an odd, eerie silence—the ninth it lunged again. The tenth it waited. The eleventh it waited. The twelfth lap it rose up and smashed against several trees in Sakumo's path. It's hind legs squatted and it pounced furiously. Out of breath, he had used a clone in diversion—a lightning clone, in hopes a good shock might dissuade it. He watched it leap head on, and a flash of white occurred. Sakumo finished the last two laps in silence.

Sakumo walked out of the forest alone. He knew he wouldn't have the strength to see Dalzen that night. He was dirty, too, in addition to his muscle cramps. He collapsed himself on the ground outside the fence for a moment and he sighed. _Take the good and the bad…_his father wrote. "The kicks and the halfpence," he used to say. He used to say a lot of things out in the field to himself, as he worked. Sakumo could hear him again now, in the back of his mind.

Sakumo stood and teetered for a moment. He began walking, and noticed Sarin coming out of the large wooden building with a drinking glass in hand. Their eyes met and Sarin continued walking quietly to the corner to appreciate the night in silence—lest it might do something wrong…Sakumo managed to carry himself back home.

The next day, the two shady teens he'd come to know so well managed to fool Sakumo again—not with the canteen, but a scheme more intricate than what he'd been expecting—Sakumo was put in a four man cell with those two along with another young teen, perhaps Dura's age, around fourteen—possibly fifteen, whose words were as short as his stare. The young man was constantly looking at the ground. It was an exercise to collect a red flag in the center of the forest—they were to use no weapons, and no jutsu to defend themselves, whish was, in essence, too bad since the striped tiger was anxious for a rematch against silver-haired Sakumo. And while Sakumo was sole object of the animal's undying fury, the three teens got the flag without him and went back on their own, claiming Sakumo had used jutsu against the animal. Sarin himself came into the forest where one of the boys set off a pre-set timed seal, shattering a tree (and Sakumo's balance) to provide convenient evidence to their claim.

Sogorie stopped the tiger's advance with a strong earth jutsu, and it receded, allowing them time to escape.

Sarin sentenced Sakumo for the incident to run sixteen laps around the forest that night, and the teen bit his lip and said respectfully, "Sir—you're punishing me for crimes I'm not committing. I tried to protect those kids."

The man seemed to fight a small, and friendly smile. "Sakumo—I punish you for behavior you are not preventing," he said. "Protection…should not be your only goal for someone superior like yourself. Now go."

Sakumo went and thought about what Sarin had said while he was escaping the tiger's wrath. He longed to end it's hunt permanently, but his lightning clone was continually effective—to some degree. But after the shock would wear off, it only came back angrier. At one point, on lap twelve, he feared it might go and enlist the help of some overgrown mantis or something equally lethal. Sakumo sighed—fighting teammates was strictly prohibited, Sarin was forcing him to think of other ways to change their behavior.

After lap sixteen—he supported himself briefly on the metal fence as he walked out, seeing Sarin at the corner of his building in a familiar habit. Sakumo closed and locked the gate and fought the urge to collapse—Sarin was talking with a grey-haired man he hadn't seen before. The older man noticed Sakumo in a curious way—Sakumo forced his feet to keep moving, wondering if he should push himself anyway to see his sensei. From the corner of the teen's eye, he saw the older man leave Sarin's company and disappear off the side of the building.

Sakumo decided seeing anything else other than a giant livid cat was better than going home alone. Unfortunately, a doctor in the entrance saw him and told him to beat it—the teen looked too 'unclean' for the premise. Sakumo figured his luck was bound to go that way, and he wasn't ignorant of the fact. But Sakumo sat outside on a bench with a back to rest his feet, lest they succeeded from the happy union.

Sakumo turned his head, resting it, looking up at the stars. He fell asleep there unintentionally, and a few hours later heard a familiar female voice in front of him that woke him up: "Oh you poor thing," she said.

He opened his eyes slowly and saw Keiko there, with a mixture of smile and concern in her eyes. He moved his head slowly and noticed the sky was dark. "…What time is it…?" he asked, lowering his mask.

"Twelve-thirty."

"Twelve…thirty…?" he repeated in incredulously.

"Oh Sakumo, you look awful—Are you hurt?"

He smiled, feeling his feet. "No...I just…Oh, it's a long story," he disregarded. "Is Dalzen…?"

She frowned and shook her head, deciding to sit with him. "No…he hasn't woken yet. It's been nine days—they moved him yesterday to the third floor."

Sakumo's neck bent as he exhaled slowly.

She made no attempt to soothe him—"We're all…very worried," she said in a light voice. "Nothing seems to be working…He needs to pull through, soon," she finished quietly, looking down at the cement.

"…Dalzen is strong. He's the strongest man I know," Sakumo said truthfully. Somewhere inside, he had a romantic faith both he and Dalzen would come back stronger than ever. His captain had been the reason Sakumo was now enduring what he was—Dalzen was the reason he _was_, and Sakumo owed everything to him. The man had taught him everything, not simply jutsu and fighting techniques, but survival skills and life lessons—Dalzen had replaced his father for a time; he was the greatest mentor the teen had ever known.

**.**

Sakumo escaped punishment that day—he did not give the teens a chance to. Sakumo was clever enough to rip off a piece of fabric from one of his sleeves and stick in on the inside strap of both of the boy's canteen holders, giving (what he hoped) a faint scent of him. He wasn't sure if it would work, but it seemed to, for that day, Sakumo did not see the yellow cat anywhere. After training, he was desperate to see his captain, so he dodged out after Sarin's closing message and went out alongside the wooden building. He did not stop until he heard someone call, "Hey, you there."

Sakumo turned and saw the older man he'd seen with Sarin the night before. "…Yes?" he wondered.

The man walked forward slowly—he looked as if he were in his late fifties, early sixties; grey-blonde hair cut short, his face tanned and weathered, with little emotion. He was tall—he did not wear a traditional leaf uniform, but Sakumo could see the leaf plate around his left arm on a black sleeve—he wore a simple brown vest and dark pants. Sakumo surmised he might work in clerical duties, he wasn't sure. And oddly, the man's brow line and eyes reminded him of Dura.

"…Are you that Hatake kid…?"

Sakumo nodded—"Hatake, Sakumo."

"…My God," the man uttered after a moment—not in disbelief, but in a tight sense of wonder. "Isn't that funny," he said to himself, turning his face away from the boy. "…How very strange," murmured. "How very strange."

Sakumo thought his behavior was odd, and he took some small offence to it—"May I ask, sir; who are you?"

The man looked back at him, downwards, "…Harou Nekai," he said after some hesitation.

"You're…" Sakumo realized he was young Dura's father.

"…Yes, I believe you were trained along with my son—I'm sorry to have heard of Dalzen…" he said quietly, looking away again. "I haven't seen him...in seven years—not since the night at the tavern…He was looking so well, then, with Ichida, and the rest of them…God," he murmured. "It is strange indeed how acquaintances come and go," he said. Sakumo recognized a distant tone of something almost lethargic. Harou looked down at the ground. "Seems like yesterday we were kids ourselves with the grand old world. Monsters out there, as big as our eyes. And demons, in the shadows…so we were told," he said. He stared blankly at the dew forming in the grass.

Sakumo stood quietly, unsure of the man's character.

"Mind…" he suddenly aroused himself from his empty study. "Mind you, we would not have come so far without the best men—long lost now, no one would ever think to find them now. It is exceptionally difficult to break the chains of the dead. It is difficult," he mused. "So why remember what you cannot bring back, eh? We slip to convenience…of conceit, and our own ambitions. By, God, where are the men like Karada, I wonder."

He paused in an uneasy silence—Sakumo felt the man seemed to languish oer his words with a distant feeling in pure reminiscence. Sakumo felt torn about inquiring, in concern he might injure the man with questions. But the man stayed quiet, and Sakumo's voice was equally so, with respect, "…Did you know Karada, sir?"

"I served with him," the man answered calmly. "With your uncle, too."

Sakumo's mouth dropped open, but the man wasn't in position to see it save the mask, and the grass. "You served…with my uncle?"

"…Indeed," he said quietly. Harou finally looked at the teen; "But I see so much of your father in you, it's evident," Sakumo drew a little crest of pride from his words—"I can see it, he said, turning away, "I can still see," he murmured, walking away steadily.

Sakumo waited—Harou turned and did not stop.

It fueled the teen with questions for Keiko, and for Dalzen.

Neither of the two provided any more information, than what Harou had already given.

**.**

The next evening, Sakumo was interested to see if Dura's father was around the complex, but he saw no one other than Sogorie, and Sakumo asked him, "Sir, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Does Harou Nekai work with you—do you know where he might be?"

"No, and no," Sarin said. "Harou…is a very strange man," he admitted. "He retired from messenger duty years ago—now he tackles mundane duty in the office, in trance, like a somnambulist. He keeps himself sequestered—it was odd I saw him, really."

"May I ask…what he talked to you about?"

"Well, I did most of the talking," Sarin said matter-of-factly. "But…" he thought, "He was asking me if the talk was true about Dalzen," Sarin let himself smile. "Seems he did not trust anyone with the truth but me. Very odd man," Sarin concluded, looking at Sakumo, "Why do you ask?"

"Well—I met him yesterday night, and he told me...he knew my uncle."

"…Ah," Sarin said with a high air of understanding. "Harou can talk of the old days like no one else can—perturb him once, he will lose favor with you in an instant—" Sakumo smiled ironically behind his mask. "—The man is lost without those days, like a soldier without orders, or a mast without wind. He is a very depressed man," Sarin said, looking off into the night, "Who dreams of other days than these."

"Then…why did he come back here?"

"Who knows. Perhaps…" Sarin eyed the teen fondly, "…He has been disturbed by something."

Sakumo walked slowly to the hospital, thinking of his uncle and those early days and years under Shodaime hokage. He wondered, often, what Shodaime must have been like—there were plenty of records, but the people who knew the man were older now, like Harou and Dalzen and Keiko. It was basic teaching at the Academy (that he missed) of how the Senju and the Uchiha finally came to a truce, after so many years and decades spent in conflict. Senju Hashirama was the strongest man immortalized after Karada, and others in that clan. A sense of strength and wisdom pervaded all the names; memorials of Senju and Uchiha were there in the land of fire, and in the village, testaments to the next generation of honor.

Sakumo arrived at the third floor and walked down to the end, and to the right, and then looked in on his left.

No change.

Chinatsu took a break and left her husband alone with the teen, and Keiko stayed with him. Sakumo lowered his voice and asked her quietly, "…Is she always here?"

Keiko nodded slowly. "Hina won't leave him…and I try to stay with her as long as I can—Hoshi comes around by noon—I've seen Teal in the evenings. I feel bad I'm leaving Jiraiya alone—I'm just so worried he's not coming out of it—nothing seems to be working; he hasn't been responding to anything."

Sakumo openly frowned. He looked up—"Oh, have you seen Dura Nekai, my teammate come by?"

"No—not that I've seen. I still work during the day—I could have missed him."

"…Oh, I just wondered."

Sakumo sighed and looked at Dalzen, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. An electrocardiogram monitored his heart rate a slow pace—as if he were only just sleeping.

'Coma' still seemed a foreign word to him. His sensei had not suffered actual brain trauma, but a death-bed scan, an event that seemed to procure the same result, for whatever reason. Sakumo did not understand it—neither did any of the doctors, as Keiko had told him. The happenstance was uncharted waters for them, but Sakumo prayed on his captain's fortitude. He hoped it was only a matter of time Dalzen would wake. Talking, and praying, it seemed, were all they could do.

**.**

Two nights later, Sakumo glanced at the building as he walked out, and then looked again—Harou was there at the east end of the building, sitting outside on the floor of the small veranda, staring apathetically at the night.

The man moved his head as Sakumo stood there silently.

"Perhaps…" he said, "I ought to offer my condolences on your father. I did not believe that, until Nidaime told me. It is most ironic, I suppose. I keep waiting for my turn, but it has not come. Sit with me—I will tell you something."

Sakumo sat.

Harou's frame was still, as if awaiting some armada to come and retrieve him. "Nine years ago, I was in the messenger service, almost a year before I signed off for good. I was asked by Nidai to deliver a letter for some provincial lord to his son. The destination was the land of mist. I was intrigued, to go back there, I thanked the hokage for the opportunity.

"I came into the land of waves by ferry," he said, speaking with measure and clarity. "And I came on to the wharf there, just to take in the air, and I walked down to the end, and as I progressed, I saw an old, dark wooden thing that looked so God awful—I hardly thought it seaworthy just to sit in the dock there. It was the last ship of the line and I walked as far down to the edge as there was, and though…the paint was faded grey, I read, _'Notsuhodo, the Forgotten'_. And I held inside, 'Indeed, indeed,' for that ship was the very same one that embarked on a journey twenty five years before that day.

"I stared, for a long time at the words, and I despaired and sympathized with them—to this day. I forgot about the letter and I climbed down into a row boat up off the side. There was no one around. It towered over me—the size of it was grand," he said, "But it felt as if it were a solemn tomb, or a grave, left alone for years. There was no one," he repeated quietly. "I climbed up on the ropes on my own—the top deck, vacant, Not a soul, and not a whisper. It confirmed my premonition. It was a protector of memory, and of ghosts—the ones the men fought with, and died with. I felt Saru's presence on that ship, looking out o'er the starboard side in a heavy ether that seemed only present on-deck. It was hard to walk. The gravity…seemed so thick on that ship. And I remember walking through the shifts in time across the main deck, and then down below, where I stopped outside the door of a state-room where I heard a young man talking to the only captain I think the ship had ever known. And I remember he was doing a fair job of angering the old man—and I heard the captain saying, in spite of myself, 'We will not go to any breaking-up yard in any port, in any country, we will not be sunk, cannoned, destroyed, or saved. Good-bye to you, sir.' The man seemed to hesitate, and the captain seemed to have prodded him in the shin with his stick—I saw the man had a slight limp as he walked out and stared at me in some surprise. He asked me who I was, and I said simply, 'No one of importance.'

"The young man accepted my answer and treated me as such. He walked back out onto main deck and I never saw him again. And the captain wondered who else was there—he could sense it.

"I walked in slowly, and saw him sitting there in the room, in a chair with his stick, beneath an old grey painting of stormie seas. He too asked me who I was, and I gave him my name, and he noticed my leaf insignia and he said 'What is a shinobi doing here?' and I told him my assignment. He looked at me, and he asked how long I had guessed the mission would take me, and I answered nine or ten days. He said, 'This ship is no longer sea-fit, ask Houda, he is a good man. He owes me a favor, anyway.'

"I asked Shingatte how old the ship was, and he warmed, saying it was 'only forty years' with a longing outlook left on life, 'and a healthy crack of doom waiting to sound in her hull. Then,' he said to me, 'Is when all this will cease. Then, it will be my turn, after so many others have gone and left, their voices, still lingering in these walls, re-playing all of our conversations—until the end.' And I must have blinked in surprise or something for he added, 'And even then…it does not fade. It is only, forgotten.'

"I realized in that moment how empty my life was. I felt exactly as he. Forgotten," Harou said. He looked down at his hands he clasped as his arms reposed over his knees, "I delivered that letter and came back straightaway. I waded through another year of it, and then I said no more. I refused to be an emissary where our brave new world was losing it's premise. Oh I admire memorials now and then, but I hear no one speaking of them," Harou seemed to smile in a respite. "I suppose that's how their luck goes, now. They remember Shodai, yes indeed. But Karada's name has been lost, and so many others, I could not bear it any longer, and still, I stay…

"You know," he said after a pause. "I trained your father, in blade. There was a time I did that sort of thing after your uncle and I came back after Karada left all of us…There was a time, Saru was like an older brother to me. We were both there, with Karada, in so many places. But, it's gone now, just as he, and he never came back."

Harou was silent.

The despairity in his voice transferred to his eyes, and Sakumo had never seen a man so listless, and aged so far beyond his years.

"…Go," he said after a while.

Sakumo stood, and he hesitated. "Sir…"

"…There is nothing else to say. Now go."

Sakumo left him.

**.**

The following night, Sakumo did not see Harou about the premise, and Sarin informed him neither had he. So Sakumo trotted back to the hospital and went in the usual way now, all the way to the top and to the left, to Dalzen's room. He walked quietly with no sound as he thought about Harou and suddenly, he stopped. The door was cracked open a ways and he heard Chinatsu's voice speaking low and soft. She did not notice any presence, and Sakumo listened in spite of himself, and she said, "Two weeks—are you hearing me? Oh you'd better be hearing me—in fact I know you're hearing me. You've always heard me because you've always apologized…" she hesitated, briefly putting a hand to her face. "You were so polite…" she thought, "And so quiet, I could never guess what you were thinking—I can't now," she sighed.

Chinatsu looked at hm with a sudden flash of emotion in her eyes. "So wake up, you idiot!" she said louder. She gathered herself and shook her head. "Damn you…" she whispered, holding back tears. "…Two weeks," she said again after a pause. "Two weeks, are you insane for keeping me insane? Oh you're playing a dangerous game, Dalzen, thinking I'll cry and forgive you and fall back into your arms," her voice trembled as she sobbed a crest of emotion. She touched her eyes and held back a sob caught in her throat. "…Well…?" her voice was soft. She received no response. "Dammit—I don't know why this has happened. I don't know why," she said, looking away, and then back again, "But come on, really, seriously—pull out of it already. You're driving me mad, and I won't be happy when you wake up for all the…" she changed her mind. "No…" she inhaled sharply. "I suppose I should tell you I'll…be there, when you wake up. Because…I love you…" she said quietly. Her brow drew together. "Oh please, for the love of God wake yourself up!" Again she touched her eyes, and looked down at her hands. "You must wake up if you have any chance of stopping that wedding," Hina said with a twisted smile. "You know I won't. It's still on—I told you that yesterday," she said, looking downward.

"Oh…come on," she looked up after a while. "Why can't you wake up," she said, tears blinding her eyes. She stood up off the chair and walked idly to the window. She shook her head…and began crying again.

"I don't know why…" she murmured. "I can't help you…For God's sake…I can't drag you out of this! So, please!" she cried. "Wake, up!"

**.**


	28. Madness Or Despair

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 28  
_**Madness Or Despair**_

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"Oh, Dura!" Sakumo called.

"Oh hi, Sakumo…what's up?"

"I wanted to talk to you—about your father."

"Oh…" Dura followed him to a quiet corner of the missions office. "What about him…?"

"Well, I've seen him, just two days ago, and he told me a few things…about his past."

"Oh…yeah…I'm really sorry—"

"No, no, it was amazing; he just seems…so...tired."

"Yea…um, well…Remember when we left on our mission, with Dalzen…?" Sakumo nodded—Dura looked down. "Well, that's about the time otoussan…was…depressed—I mean…Well, he wanted me to go—but my okaasan didn't—she'd left him. Well…I went, but when I came back home…I've been living with my okaasan for the past two years because my father is so…sad. I'm not allowed to see him, but I have, anyway…but he's just…different, and so quiet, and I don't know what to do to bring them back together again."

"…Oh," Sakumo pained the boy was going through what he was. "I'm so sorry—I had no idea."

Dura shrugged. "They never really got along…And I guess…I really don't remember my father ever being happy—he's always been this way—my mother left him when I was eight, and we still saw each other…he went with me to school, and taught me how to use a kunai, but…my okaasan says he's 'stuck in the past', and that no one can get him out of it."

"Oh…" Sakumo said again. "I'm sorry."

"…It's ok…" Dura said—"I was just…going to see Dalzen, can you come…?"

"Oh—no, I can't. I'm on a lunch break right now—Sarin might go mad if he caught me missing," Sakumo smiled lopsidedly. "We're not really supposed to leave the training grounds."

"Oh…um…good luck," Dura wished with a sorry smile.

"And you."

Sakumo went hungry, but at least he knew Dura's side of it. He felt so sorry for the boy, and for Harou, to be in that state of despair, it'd affected his life deeply. Harou was beginning to remind Sakumo a little of his own father, only Coushander had suppressed his pain—Dura's father had not. His mind was changed on viewing the deaths in his life—and Saru had meant something to him as well. Harou himself had been the one who taught Sakumo's father the katana. Sakumo felt he had to pursue the man, and try and change his perspective; after all, Sakumo possessed the memory of the land of mist and fog—if only Harou could share his memories, perhaps he could find less coldness in men, and more commonality around him.

Sakumo cherished his father and his memories—if only Harou could know.

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Sakumo did not see Dura's father that night. So he skipped out on the visit to the hospital, and ran out to find Dura. He remembered the boy lived in an apartment complex on the west side, just east of the hokage tower. He got the room number from the landlady, and he hoped he wasn't too late for a short visit—it was almost nine o'clock.

A woman answered the door of the apartment—she looked remarkably younger than Harou, but Sakumo could see small lines about her eyes—he apologized, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I am Hatake Sakumo, a teammate of Dura's—is he here?"

She shook her head. "…I'm not sure where he is exactly, but she should be home soon…Shall I tell him you asked?"

"Oh—yes, please, and thank you."

She nodded and closed the door.

Sakumo flipped a coin in his mind's eye and decided to wait outside the complex on the bottom step, hoping his luck would change.

He did not see Dura come until nine-thirty, and by then, Sakumo was up a tree. He jumped down and Dura saw him immediately, "…Sakumo…"

"Hey…are you ok?"

"Well…" Dura shied. "I…went and saw my dad…" he said quietly.

"…And…?"

"He…well he…was speaking…to somebody…"

"…Who?"

Dura shook his head with chagrin disappointment, "…Somebody named Karada, I don't know—I think he was a Senju. He wasn't there," the boy said sadly.

Sakumo was shocked. "Oh…" he said quietly. "Would…could you tell me…where he lives…? I'd like to talk to him."

"Oh Sakumo," Dura turned his head away, tears in his eyes. "Nobody can talk to him. He's really…just not there, anymore."

Sakumo touched the boy's shoulder, "Please," he said, "Let me try."

Hesitantly, Dura gave the address.

Harou lived alone in a small apartment on the north side of town, east of the two mountain faces, on the other side of town. He lived on the top floor, in a small apartment space—there was only one on that floor. Dura had told him the other boarders, including the landlord, had nick-named his father 'the ghost of the top floor'. They were all too familiar with the man's dis-attachment with life and land. Sakumo walked up the final twist of stairs and knocked on the door. He heard no answer. "…Nekai-san, it's me, Sakumo. Please—I'd like to talk to you."

Sakumo waited, and finally, he turned the handle out of curiosity, and it was unlocked. The teen went in slowly and saw the man sitting on a chair, facing the window—a prime view of the mountainside. "…Sir?"

"…Come in," he said calmly—his hands were holding his head on the table, nearly the only thing in the small room. The door had opened to the kitchen. Most everything was wood—the table, and the cabinets, a maple. The wall that enclosed the room was bare, and through the door, Sakumo saw little else.

Sakumo closed the door behind him and walked forward. He felt an immense sense of sadness emanating not only from the man, but from the furniture and the walls, and the window, to which the man stared fixedly at, as if it were the only thing in the room. There were no blinds or curtains to shield the pane. The sand color of the mountain blended with the wood, and everything seemed to meld together in a brown haze of wood and mountain.

The eighteen year old took in a breath. "Sir, I just wanted to tell you…that I remember," Sakumo said. "My father told me about his mission to water county, and about Saru-Shin. It hasn't been forgotten, and nor will I ever forget what he…did—What all of them did," Sakumo waited to see if his words had any effect.

Harou continued to stare.

The man lowered his hands and he leaned back slowly, glancing over at Coushander's son. Harou folded his arms and looked away at the glass. "…I am fifty-nine years old," he said, "Those days, are over. Your father…was a smart man. I see that now. He was smart to take his leave when he did, for what he'd seen. Saru's death…was meaningless. No one can remember—"

"My uncle died to save my father," Sakumo stated plainly.

Harou turned his head—he was a little surprised at the young man's words.

Sakumo was reminded of his captain Dalzen's words, and he said slowly, "It's the rule of comitatus, and damn any sir who does not uphold it. It's what we fight for. It's all I've ever understood that we fight for," Sakumo said, "To protect one another, and it will never be forgotten—people hurt too much because of it—my father did. He never denied what Saru did—just how it happened. He had to watch him die. But he told me, and I will not forget. I will not forget anything my father told me, it's all I have left."

Harou turned away again, considering his words.

"Please—if you just opened up to people—"

"You do not understand."

"Yes I think I do," Sakumo said firmly. "Please give me that much, at least."

Harou glanced at him with a hardness deep set in his eyes, "…It will end badly, you know."

"Well…I'll face it as I go…It's all I can do."

Harou seemed to smile a small, odd one. "Youth," murmured. "Oh youth. We are all lunatics in youth. It passes. It fades. You will be disillusioned, just as I."

"…My uncle never lost hope."

"Your uncle was a special kind of lunatic—he was a fool. I am not prone to that remarkable defiance. He deserved a medal for that kind of strength."

Sakumo slowly reached into his pocket and walked closer to the man, setting the small silver pentagon on the table, watching the man's confusion. "He did get a medal," Sakumo said, "And my father kept it in his honor."

Harou stared at it. "…The remembrance," he said to himself.

"Dalzen still wears it—and Keiko, and Ichida-san. Ask Nidaime, he'll tell you he was there, with them, when it happened. Ask Sarutobi Hizuren, he knows what it is, and what it commemorates."

Harou inclined his head to the right, away from Sakumo. "…The...I suppose, then, you may have see the picture I took of them…out there on the dock."

"…Yes," Sakumo smiled. "Many times."

Harou looked down, and shook his head slowly. "…I fought with Saru…to take me, in your father's place," Harou admitted. "But…it was only for six months, why argue. I took the picture, I gave him the journal he wanted, and then I left. I trained new recruits and I kept waiting, for them to return, but there was nothing. Six months, a year…a year and a half…God," he said, shaking his head, holding inside the torment.

"Finally, upon two years…Shodaime called me in personally, and he briefed me. Oh he briefed me everything. Trouble was, he was negotiating a treaty at the time, so if he sent in more people, it would be reported on—You are familiar with the true nature of their mission…are you?"

Sakumo nodded.

"I was livid. And shocked," Harou said. "I was shocked Saru let Coushander go, and everyone else he picked. I was on the dead run that afternoon—fearing everyone on that team was dead, and their bodies already out to sea. Maybe they hadn't even made it there. I ran, and I was on the first ship out of the land of waves, bound east. And I…was shocked again—I recognized your sensei so easily—he was finding a captain on the dock to leave! How uncanny, I thought it. How very strange. And then we got to talking, and I asked him if they were all right, and he told me all but two—Coushander and Saru. Oh Coushander...was torn. Shred right apart from the inside out. My God, he was an unconscious mess. I knew, after I finally heard their story (they were reluctant to tell me), I traveled back with them, and I just knew he would never be the same. I would never be the same. We had a strong, fast wind that voyage, but your father…would be stuck in that curse of fog forever. In fact…I thought he'd die before we made it into the village…I thought for sure he would, but he didn't. And by then, of course, the treaty was signed and done, and there was Shodai, surprised to greet them back…" Harou exhaled and closed his eyes. "I was never told, officially, what happened—only that they had indeed completed their task. Shodaime considered the case closed, and no one of the team or myself was to speak of it ever again. They recorded two deaths on their file—Haruda and Zerejin, and that was it," Harou looked up with his eyes at the window. "Your father went insane, in so many words, and gave Shodai a real chewing out, I heard from Tobirama. By his words (there were so few of them), I got the impression it was more an outburst of savagery, than consternation. It made me smile. And Coushander left…not after seething loudly at several other people, I heard…Doctors. I guess no one could heal him. I thought as much…

"Ever since then…" he continued after a while. "I always felt like there was something missing. Your father never went back like your team had thought, and I went back to wandering…doing various things…and somewhere along the line…it didn't matter much anymore."

Sakumo watched the man's eyes fall. "…Well," Sakumo thought after a while, unaccustomed to the flagrant silence. "It matters now, to me."

Harou kept his gaze down; his form, still and suddenly taciturn. "Go, now…Thank you for coming."

"Are…Well…but…If you want to talk, please…I'd love to listen."

Harou said nothing, but he inclined his head as a short nod.

Sakumo picked up the medal, and left.

He decided to go to the hospital before he finally went home—as he came into the hall on the left, he saw Chinatsu sitting on a bench outside in the hall, crying; Keiko at her side. Their eyes met and Sakumo walked and went into the room. He heard the heart monitor still beeping—the woman's nerves were just strung out. Sakumo took a seat in the chair Hina normally occupied, right next to the bed. The teen sighed, and quietly told Dalzen a summary of what he and Harou had said. "…I wish you were awake," Sakumo concluded. "You might be able to get through to him," Sakumo looked down at his clasped hands. "I know you would. You were able to get through to my father," he said. "Harou is a little like him, only, so depressed…Dura doesn't know what to do—and I guess I don't either; I just have to keep talking to him, I guess..." he smiled. "Like I have to do with you," Sakumo could not hear the crying outside anymore. "Please wake up," he said quietly, "We need you back."

.

"Oh forty-six more days…" Sakumo moaned to himself the next evening. And despite his valiant efforts of diplomacy and patience with the ruckus teens, Sakumo received another punishment from Sarin in lieu of a tragic retaliation that day.

Sakumo trudged back slowly, toward the hospital. He turned the corner, and saw Dura, waiting on a bench—he rose up and smiled, "Sakumo!"

"…Huh? Oh—hey Dura."

"Hey—my mother found out where I was last night."

"Oh…no…"

"No! But I told her you had gone to see him, and you'll never guess, I couldn't believe it—she went over there today, to my father's apartment, and she saw him!"

"…Really? That's great!"

"Yeah—she…well she didn't tell me much, but I just felt so happy that she talked to him, you know? I've wanted it so much…" Dura trailed, emotion welling in him. "I guess she was just surprised that you've met him, and…it was just really great," Dura smiled.

"I'm glad. I hope it works out."

Dura nodded—"Thank you Sakumo, I think I owe it to you. Oh, and I better get going now—my mother doesn't like me out late anyway."

"Ok," Sakumo smiled, "Take care."

"You too—oh, and how many more days do you have?"

"Forty-six," Sakumo answered promptly, "I'm counting every one."

Dura smiled. "Be careful—see you."

"Yeah, see you," he waved as the boy ran. Sakumo sighed and he smiled to himself at least something had gone right that day.

.

The next evening, April sixth, Sakumo had avoided punishment, and he went home and showered and changed—apparently the tiger would not be sated until it had the teen for itself, with more than a gash on his sleeve to claim.

He trotted back to the hospital and suddenly slowed as he reached the steps, beginning to limp slightly. He could feel his right ankle stretch uncomfortably, and it began to ache. Sakumo pulled down his mask as he turned down the hall on his left, ignoring the pain—Sarutobi was just walking out with Keiko. "…Oh…" Sakumo murmured.

"Oi, Sakumo, how are you?" Hizuren smiled.

"I'm all right—and you?"

"Good, good."

"How's…training going?" Sakumo asked.

Sarutobi laughed, "Very…well. It's going well," he smiled. "Jiraiya has improved…very much." Beside him, Keiko smiled.

"I'm sorry…" Sakumo said, smiling awkwardly, "I've wanted to help him too, but I guess I've been busy…"

"So I've heard," Hizuren said. "How many more days have you got left?"

"Forty-five."

"Oh, that long?"

Sakumo smiled, "Don't remind me…"

"Well, keep at it," he smiled.

"I will."

Sarutobi left, and Keiko looked over Sakumo with concern, "Are you ok?" she asked.

"Oh…it's just a scratch," Sakumo said, referring to the cut on his cheek. "From a leaf…I think, dodging the enormous cat that lurks in Sarin's woods. I wonder…if it has a name. I should ask him sometime…"

"Oh Sakumo…" she half-smiled.

"I can handle it," he said confidently. He walked up to the door, leaning on his left side; it was three-quarters of the way open, and Sakumo only saw Dalzen there, still unconscious. "Where's…?"

"Oh Hina is downstairs, in the cafeteria—Takato came by, and he's keeping her company. You…want to be alone?"

He made a non-committal noise, "It doesn't matter," he shrugged. "I guess I don't have much to say," Sakumo walked in and looked at the same sight for the past seventeen days. "Isn't he waking up, at all?"

She shook her head, folding her arms. "He's not responding to anything—Hina is…pretty worried."

Sakumo cast her a look of understanding, "I know…" he said quietly. "I heard her three days ago. I can't imagine what she's going through."

Keiko looked down.

"But…I guess I keep thinking, he'll wake up, any minute…saying he heard us all, you know?" Sakumo stared at the bed.

"Yeah…I know," she returned softly. "I think that's what makes this harder. The waiting."

Sakumo nodded: _the waiting…_

.

Two weeks later, they were still waiting. Dalzen had been in the coma now for a whole month, thirty-one days, the same number of days Sakumo had left to go under Sarin. On his way to the hospital after he'd changed, Sakumo smiled a little though, thinking of Dura who told him only two days ago, his mother was still seeing his father. Sakumo had not seen Harou since the visit to the man's apartment, but he hoped it'd work out between the family, and Harou would finally stop being recluse. The void of both mother and father was something Sakumo knew no one should have to endure.

Sakumo went up in the hospital to the third floor and walked into the small room, suddenly with a wave of disappointment. "…Oh, Sakumo," Keiko stood up. "Dura was here about an hour ago—he wanted to talk to you."

"Oh…what about?"

"Well…I think he should tell you."

"Oh…um, all right," he looked back down at Dalzen, "…No change?"

Keiko shook her head.

"Ok…" Sakumo sighed. "I'll try and be back later." He left the room and the building and wondered what Dura had to say. He ran north east to the complex, hoping it wasn't too late to see him. He went up the flight of stairs, and Sakumo knocked on the door, and Dura answered, looking sadder than Sakumo had ever seen him. "Oh Sakumo," the boy said, blinking back tears.

"What's…wrong?"

"It's…It's my father…" Dura mumbled, letting his teammate in.

"What's happened?"

Dura closed the door. "My…My father…" his voice quivered quietly, "…Committed…suicide."

Sakumo blinked in shock—he looked away, stunned; "Oh…God—I'm sorry…"

Dura kept his head down, "It was…this morning…My mother…" Dura hesitated. "He…He left a note, and…told me…it wasn't…my…fault…" he cried.

"Oh…" Sakumo looked down at him. He wasn't sure what to do, but he hugged the boy, "I'm sorry."

Dura cried for a minute until he stopped, "I'm sorry," he apologized for himself. "It's just…I really thought…"

"Sakumo held his shoulders, finding his eyes tearing as well. "I know, I know," he said quietly. "I know…"

.

Sakumo came to the funeral five days later; he'd convinced Sarin to let him make up a few hours that night. It was a private gathering, like the way his own father's had been. He saw Dura cry, and Sakumo knew that pain. But Harou's death had been a shock. Sakumo could not imagine losing anyone that way, in such a horrid act of madness or despair. It was a tragedy. And Sakumo was collecting enough of those to hate it. Dura did not deserve it—he'd loved his father far too much to earn this in return. Sakumo hugged him again, and felt the boy's pain. _I'm so sorry,_ he thought again.

It was late that night when Sakumo went in to the hospital.

"Oh…" Keiko turned around—she was alone in the room. "Are you…all right?"

Sakumo gave a small shrug and he sighed, frowning. He took Hina's empty seat and stared at Dalzen. Finally, he looked up and Keiko, briefly, and shook his head.

She looked down. "…It's been thirty-four years," she said after a while. "Since the land of mist. We came home the end of April."

"Oh…" Sakumo looked up. "Oh…" he said again, thinking, "I wonder…I wonder if…he…knew…" Sakumo thought, widening his eyes, thinking of the timing of Harou's actions.

"…What?"

"Oh…nothing…" Sakumo shook his head, not wishing to speak of it. He sighed as the monitor wouldn't change. He watched Dalzen sleep. "Why did…everything…go so wrong," he wondered aloud. "I feel so terrible—it was just starting to go right…"

Keiko looked at Dalzen. "I don't know," she sad. "But it's happened…and we have to live with that."

"I just wish—God I wish you would…" Sakumo said to Dalzen, receiving no response.

"Oh, Sakumo," Kano remembered, "Seichi was here today."

"…Oh? Oh! Shoot—did he come back from…?"

"Yes, he got back a couple days ago."

"Hm," Sakumo smiled oddly. "I almost forgot about him…"

He frowned again as he looked at his captain, sleeping. _Dura needs you,_ Sakumo thought slowly, _and so do I._

He left soon, and he read his father's letter before he went to bed.

.

The next morning, Sakumo went out as usual to the training grounds…until he saw something very odd peeking over the roof of the Academy—Sakumo walked over and suddenly smiled. "Jiraiya…" he said in disbelief, "What are you _doing?"_

"I'm lookin' out for the white-faced bear," he said.

Sakumo's smile widened. "Well be sure you don't _become_ one…Don't go talking to any mystics," he said. "What _are_ you doing up there?"

Jiraiya grinned. "Sensei said to meet here."

Sakumo rolled his eyes, "I doubt he meant on the roof, silly. Oh come down from there."

"How would you know?" Jiraiya said. "We can meet on the roof."

"You could also meet in a closet, now get down from there."

Jiraiya looked away with a flower of inspiration in his eyes, "Huh," he said thoughtfully, "I never thought of_ that_…"

Sakumo shook his head, smiling a little. "Well I have to go now, ok?"

The young boy looked down at him, "Why can't you train with us?"

"Because my training…" Sakumo was about to say was 'punishment', but he didn't feel like saying the word. "…is special."

"I want to be special too, and then I could see you more, niisan."

"Well…" Sakumo felt sorry towards him, "I'll try and get back sooner, ok? I promise."

Jiraiya smiled, "Ok, ani-chan."

.

"What makes a man obey order? Is it loyalty? Is it conviction? Is it naturally submissive? Or perhaps it is loyalty and conviction, to a naturally submissive feeling to those, our leaders, who were elected to rule," he said, and Sakumo listened intently amidst some sniggering he heard behind him. "And perhaps conviction," Sarin said, closely eyeing each of them. "Is what defines us. Perhaps it is conviction, that sustains us. For any man who does not honor his own word cannot be loyal to his friends, nor can he be submissive to any higher authority. I believe," Sarin concluded, "It is the conviction of our principle, our value, that lets us obey our duty, as loyal, and steadfast, as we are required to do. For if we do not, then who will lead, and who will follow? We would be slaves without our fundamental beliefs and let no one, let no one take what you hold dear away from you. Let no one.

"Dismissed."

The group scattered, and Sakumo walked slowly—"Sakumo, wait."

He stopped and turned around, he saw it was Sarin. Sakumo looked aside and waited for the last of the boys to exit. "Sir," Sakumo thought, "But how can any man become so…listless…?"

Sarin pulled him aside anyways, "It is far easier than you think, Sakumo, far easier."

"…But how?"

"The feeling of being alone. Solitude itself, is a grave and cold tomb. It is not broken by a simple change of mind. Harou continued his duties as shinobi, until the end, but he felt…no one shared his own conviction. No one with him shared…a duty, to the past," Sarin said. "I cannot speak for him, but I suppose it was obvious. It's a tragic thing…to be that alone. I think his own personal life…was mixed, I don't know. But the apathy…That is something powerful: fear it. Fear apathy and despair. Despair invites darkness, and the dark is such that it taints a man's heart to very destructive ways. There's a new rationality that enters into the mind, and Lord only knows the perimeters of that hazy world. Harou…bought into it.

"It is sad that one can feel that alone," Sarin remarked again after a pause. "And it is very serious when one can feel that solitude amid a crowd. It was very sad. I'm sorry it ended that way…"

Sarin left him with a curt nod, presumably to go back in the building and pour himself a glass and watch over his woods. Sakumo walked down the wooden steps of the porch and listened as they creaked. It was the only sound he heard as he felt alone, himself.

The dusk settled down west of the mountain, and the hospital seemed to continue the silence. Nothing stirred that night, but Sakumo, completely forgetting about his younger brother.

Sakumo went back and stayed up with the boy, just before nine, until Sakumo left, promising he wouldn't forget again.

.

Twenty days later, Sakumo walked back to the hospital, relieved beyond limitations he only had five days left under Sarin's training. He met little Jiraiya outside the hospital steps, and Sakumo smiled openly to him and said, "Hey; let me see Dalzen first real quick, ok?"

Jiraiya looked up, "Can I come up with you?"

"Sure."

So they went together, up the stairs to the third floor, but as Sakumo stepped up, he could hear crying on the level, and a vague sense of something he did not feel was right—Sakumo trotted to the left hallway:

Keiko was sitting on the bench outside, sobbing, Takato by her side. Behind him, Jiraiya moved slowly to his mother—Sakumo moved to the door; it was wide open, and the only sound he heard was muffled outbursts of intermittent sobs, and they came from Chinatsu, face down over her husband's arm. Hoshi was there, inside the room with a red face, and a doctor in a white coat. The tall black-haired girl looked as if she'd start crying again upon Sakumo's silent entry. She looked at him and then lowered her head to stare at the floor. The doctor seemed to sigh, and slowly, he walked out of the room. Hoshi, too, after a while, followed him.

.

Sakumo continued waking up crying in disbelief and shock.

He finished four days, reticent, and on the fifth day, the day of the funeral, Sarin let him go, citing Sakumo's retraining period was over. The teen was already clad in indigo. He un-tied his hitai-ate, and picked up the vest he'd left in the building. He put it on and tied the headband back in a knot to hang loosely at his neck. He thought of Sarin's kindness. Sixty long days were over now.

Sakumo turned around and went out, back towards the center of the village, the east side, with tears stinging his eyes. He thought of his captain. Fifty-seven long days, were over, now.

It was still a bright morning, May sixteenth, at ten o'clock. The mess of sunshine wafted lost over his heart as he walked east, under that yellow light, in the shinobi village. _Be your own person and know who you are. Ask Dalzen sometime…_It was all over now, in one quick, inexplicable, inexorable moment of fate. A fate so unfair, Sakumo tried holding it in when he saw the group: Chinatsu had been to determined to keep it private as possible. There were ten people in total; Seichi had made it there as well. Sakumo held his grief unsuccessfully as he saw them all so closely bonded together. And after a little while, and with effort, Takato began the eulogy.

.

On the tallest mountain in all the world, lives a man, by himself, on the very lonely peak of the mountain, his small plateau, from which to look out upon all those below. He lives there still, alone, and he shines down still, above the earth, at night, when it is dark enough to see. He was a shepherd, and his flock, still wanders below him around that mountain. And there is a white-faced bear somewhere in the forest, paying for his crimes; and there is a trepan, swift coyote, still running wild in the woods, where the trees are as tall as hills. There are four brothers above that forest who became stars, and there is a girl, who married the moon. And there is a lonely mountaineer…sitting above his brown mountain from a cloud in the sky, chained there, to that spot, like a ghost still chained to his irons, somewhere northwest of Midori.

And there was a young boy once, who grew up in a far western city, in the old Wind republic that was Suna, under an unwarranted nationalist of imperialism, imposing a convenient thing as martial law, keeping the people under his control alone. The boy's grey-haired father spoke out ardently against the occupation, and his wife stood fast with him—and they were eventually imprisoned, but not before they hid their boy in the care of the father's brother, in a self-imposed exile down south. Two long years went by—the mother died of sickness…and the father was broken, by the military men, and hung himself rather than be a slave. The uncle was livid—the boy was fourteen. A couple more years went by in exile. Until finally, the uncle was betrayed by the family's only friend, and thus ended the last man of the opposition. The people did not care anymore which new nation they belonged—leaves, or sand; "they both crumble in the end…" Chinatsu murmured. The young man went to the leaves, never trusting a single soul to speak the truth again. He heard the traitor's name spoken now and then, as he was granted a very good position in the civilian government, and then in the Suna shinobi structure, and he heard the traitor spoke of him, in passing, now and then, saying, 'Aye, and if you see that little Morino boy, for all glory, tell me; I'll show him his father's old cell. It's vacant.' But the courteous gesture never came to fulfillment.

"What was his name?"

Dalzen hesitated.

Chinatsu gently looked expectant.

"…Second guard…of Shodaime, Kazekage."

Hina's mouth dropped open.

"I'm sorry, I did not tell you that until now," he looked away with deep reserve. "Even now…I never speak of it."

"What…What happened, to your uncle?" she asked softly.

He glanced at her with a dark look in his eyes, "I cannot tell you…you do not want to know," he said quietly.

"…I understand," she said after a little while. But now, she did not understand.

"Hina, please?" Kano said again.

It was no use.

She would not answer.

Five days after the funeral, Sakumo still had not reported back for active duty. Numbly, he spent some time with Jiraiya, and met Hizuren a few times after training, and Sakumo saw the other two students of the small team. He saw they too had matured their skills somewhat under two years of direct training with the brown-haired jounin. Hizuren pulled Sakumo aside a little and he asked him quietly with a curious smile, "You ever plan on taking students?"

Sakumo felt himself smile for the first time in days, but it was far from genuine. "Oh…I don't know," he said sedately. "I think it's too soon, for that. I'm only eighteen."

"Well, it seems they're getting more people in every year," Hizuren stated, "Sensei are in demand."

Sakumo glanced back at his otouto, and the little blonde-haired girl. "…Not yet," he said distantly. "Definitely…I think it takes something…A real patience—" Sakumo stopped himself and blinked back tears that suddenly blinded his eyes. He nodded quickly, as if to end his point.

Five days, Sakumo felt apathetic enough to fall into an immense gulf of despair of his own.

Dalzen…was gone.

Kano told him just how many hours it'd taken to get Chinatsu out of the hospital room. Kano was gone frequently, worried so much for her, as Hina had simply walled herself away, hiding from everyone, and hiding from the numerous condolences and sympathies she was still receiving. It seemed the whole village wanted to come up to her unwelcome doorstep. And as far as Keiko knew, the wedding was off, but she did not know if they had ended the engagement. She guessed not, or some instinct she had told her so. Teal, like his mother, turned recluse.

"Niisan…" Jiraiya woke him.

"…What? Oh," Sakumo remarked. "Sorry."

Jiraiya frowned at his ani's apology. "Sakumo…I have a question."

"…Sure. Shoo," Sakumo picked himself up off the grass to stand.

"Did…your sensei go away…like father did?"

Sakumo stared blankly; he nodded his head after a pause.

"…Oh."

_You still don't get it,_ Sakumo thought to himself. "When you're older, you'll understand."

"But…father's been gone for so long—I miss him, I get that. I don't remember…" Jiraiya stared at the night. "I remember him…but I don't. I remember…he told me some stories, but…I can't remember his voice."

Sakumo touched his eyes.

"…Sakumo, are you crying?"

The teen hesitated—"Come on, it's time to go back," he said without looking at the seven year old. "Get you kunai."

Sakumo started walking.

.

He walked into the missions' office early the next morning. Sarutobi Hizuren had mentioned to him that a Hyuuga was looking for a jounin to assist him in a mission to Suna. That Hyuuga was Hiromasa's only son, Naoya. Hizuren had dropped a crafty hint Sakumo might be interested, and that eagerness caught Sakumo unaware as the young man told him, "Oh, Sakumo—I'm pleased you've come to see me. I'd like to leave on Monday, for Suna. Is that all right?"

Sakumo wished he could shrink away to roll his eyes; _Hizuren, you're so subtle…_he thought wryly. "Well—I'm sorry, but, what is this mission exactly?" Sakumo asked him.

"Oh—We've had a request from a lord of Konoha's western province, to track down a thief."

"A thief?"

"Yes, it seems the man stole thirty bars of the man's silver."

Sakumo thought, "Where'd the man go with that?"

"Supposedly west, to Suna," Naoya said, "Would you come?"

"Well…I'm not really a jounin yet under my…situation. I earn back my status in eighty-four days."

"…Oh—I see…I guess that might be a problem—this request said for two jounin to track him, but…I'm sure he'd know who you are, everything in that area knew about you and Zensare."

"Well, I don't know…" he said.

"But you know Suna," Naoya smiled, "And you even know the northern border, there's been speculation the thief is from that area."

"…Does he have name?"

Naoya shook his head. "That's still a mystery; there are only vague reports of him, by eye-witnesses. He wears a blue color cloak, and that's about it."

Sakumo frowned. "Zensare…Jun, did not want to be know. It troubles me when people do not want to be known," he half-said to himself.

"May I ask him?" Naoya asked. "I'd like it if you came along."

Sakumo gave in, "Yes—yes, ok, I'll go…if the lord accepts me."

Naoya smiled. "Thank you Sakumo."

The teen nodded.

And Sakumo sighed heavily, after watching him go. In two days, he might have to go on an excursion to nowhere, chasing another insane, nameless man in a confused wilderness of sand, canyon, land, and mountain. Sakumo shook his head—he'd met Naoya a few times before, and the son was more talkative than his father, and with an energy of good-spirited youth. Naoya was twenty years old, young looking, with dark brown hair cut short, bangs parted across his smooth face. He was a very well-trained jounin, just like his father, possessing the special ocular trait common to every born Hyuuga—the byakugan. The bloodline trait was very apparent, and Sakumo easily remembered the very first time he saw it. He was with Dalzen, and the Hyuuga gentleman came up to them and Sakumo took one look and then stared at the ground in a fright, for fear of ever looking again. Their eyes were white—no visible iris, or pupil, and no color, it was all opaque, like an almond pearl.

Dalzen explained to him afterwards what it was, and still it was shockingly strange for the eight year old to see such a thing in a man. "They aren't blind, Sakumo," Dalzen said quietly, "They can see far better than most of us."

Sakumo helped his little brother that evening, and told Kano, at night, of the possible outing with Hiromasa's son. And she smiled. "Well, it's something."

"I know," Sakumo sighed, "It's just—with…Dalzen…God, I…" Sakumo shook his head and turned quiet for a moment. "I feel lost," he admitted. "I don't feel the same anymore."

"Yeah…" she said silently. "I know."

"And plus…" he debated whether or not to bring it up.

"…What?"

"Well—I guess I sort of planned on…going to my father's grave…His birthday…is in about a week from now."

She looked down at the counter, "I see," she said. "But…You've still got time—do you want to go tomorrow? I'll go with you."

"I don't want to go to any darn grave!"

Sakumo turned his head away in hopeless confliction—"I'm sorry," he said quickly after his outburst of confusion. Sakumo tried to bundle the emotion in him, but it was too difficult. "I'm so tired of it," he said frustratingly. "I'm sorry—I can't take it, and I can't accept it. I can believe he's…"

She empathized with him. "I know," she murmured quietly.

"…I'm sorry," Sakumo said again, and he got off the stool. "I don't know if I'm going yet anyway; I think I'll know tomorrow. Thank you…for listening. I'm sorry."

She nodded, and Sakumo let himself out.

Sakumo had an inclination suddenly to kick anything he saw, so he took a quick detour to waste time and headed for the old well just south of the Academy. It was in a thick grove, along a path that led both to the Academy, and to a series of shrines that honored Senju, Uchiha, Hyuuga, and other men—all lot of them were from early times, before the villages were founded, before the truce was signed in Konohamaru. He hadn't visited it in what seemed like ages. The well was stone, and one of the grey bricks was etched with the faded hiragana letters, Konohamaru. Surrounding it, was a three-foot high, enclosed wooden fence, holding a semi-open roof, with a square hold in the center, frame a piece of navy sky and stars. Sakumo gently pounded the old wooden rail and moved on. There was nothing to see.

Sakumo teared intermittently, like in a dazed rave, having sudden, strong memories of his two mentors…thinking of the dark-haired one who'd been his patient sensei and captain.

After he returned from the Zensare ordeal, he saw Dalzen at Kano's house one evening, and Sakumo was able to tell a little more of what happened. And Sakumo was ashamed to admit what Dalzen had already read in Hizuren's report. "…I did scan Nikure," he mumbled, with his head down. There was an un-easy silence, and Sakumo assumed it was a disappointed one. But he heard Dalzen's voice say, "That's remarkable Sakumo, you were able to do it by yourself."

Sakumo looked up, and he saw Dalzen's smile. "I guess I ought to have watched you more closely," he said, "Are you sure you've recovered?"

The boy smiled sheepishly, and he nodded. "I have now," he said, believing every word.

Sakumo checked his father's garden first before he went inside. He knew it demanded his attention now, so he made up his mind to do it early the next morning. He passed by the empty paddock on his back and looked at the empty wooden stall. That yard, too, was unkempt, and he could see one of the brown boards loose on the fence.

He went inside and re-set the alarm and looked at a picture of his mother and father from before his time. They were standing, smiling, outside by the back of the house. He could see the corner of the porch, and Zosha's field, out behind them, with his open-shed stall. It was a color picture; his mother's hair was a warm brown, and his father's, an unruly light-grey, framing his face. Matsuko held close to her husband, at his arm, and Sakumo smiled faintly.

"She was so soft-spoken," he recalled. "And mind you, she noticed me, first. I had no idea who she was. She knew my name—or guessed it, and she was very surprised. I asked her who she was, and you can only imagine _my_ surprise…

"I'd seen Coushander only once, in all those years, with a man in a wagon. She told me the man's name was Kosaka, and said he'd told her personally what had happened that day, and she apologized Coushander was…as rude as he was."

"What happened? What did my father do?"

Dalzen smiled. "He said nothing really, and wouldn't look at me. And he asked the man to drive on. He was…distant…or cold, more than anything else."

"But what did you say?" Sakumo interrupted.

"I asked him how he was—I was shocked, there he was, in all those years. And I think he too was unprepared for the chance encounter. We were—I was on patrol, north of Nobu—a ceremony was going to take place; a daimyo was going to travel up through Konohagakure to sign some deal or some such. And it happened quickly. It was very short; I asked your father what he was doing, and he told me after pause…it was nothing that concerned me, and then they went on their way. And I saw your mother, in town, it was about two months later, and she apologized for it, and told me of his…abhorrence towards us, in general. She said he became distant and spiteful ever since he returned from the village. She said…" Dalzen thought, "She read the diary, and she knew what had happened. I asked her what Coushander had done after he was discharged, and she told me, he wandered a bit, for almost a year, and then he came back, to start over. Your father began a different kind of life, and she told me, he was following his father's example, living privately. She regretted to say it, but he was content with it. She said he never spoke of us."

Sakumo thought in his captain's silence. "And you…didn't think of going after him?" he tried saying in casual curiosity.

Dalzen smiled a little, "The thought crossed my mind. But I didn't know—I still didn't know. Takato took the first mission down south he could get after I'd seen Coushander near Nobu. And Keiko…"

Sakumo looked expectant.

"I never told her I met your mother, nor did I tell Takato, (I learned my lesson with that one). Takato had told Keiko about my meeting him, and even though…I told her, we assumed he'd married…Keiko ended a relationship with a young man who was very fond of her, a few weeks later. I knew it'd happen if she were told, but…she did have the right to know."

"She…ended it…just…for that?" Sakumo questioned.

Dalzen looked at him, frowned, and nodded. "She was always so fond of your father. It was plain to see. She waited, for so long, like the rest of us for him to return, but he never did. But she kept waiting, I knew she had, and she never let herself get close to anyone, always thinking…she'd see him somewhere, like I had, and he would come back."

"But…my father was married."

Dalzen smiled, "I can't speak for her Sakumo, you'd have to ask her yourself, but when you wait long enough for something, and then you find out it will never come…it's easy to deny yourself what you've missed altogether, in spite of yourself, and turn away from it. I think she felt that way, and I was sorry she chose to do that."

Sakumo looked down. "Oh…So…that…was the only time you met my mother though—only once?"

Dalzen nodded. "Just that one time. I swear it."

Sakumo smiled wistfully, thinking of her. "After she died…my father never really talked about her, but…whenever I asked him, he'd always say, 'she was beautiful, in every sense of the word'. I only remember her a little. She was the one, that let me in the Academy for preschool—I guess without ever really telling my father what it was. But then, she got sick, and they pulled me out. Otoussan…was always going to the hospital, constantly. A lot of times he stayed overnight with her, and I stayed with Kosaka-san's family."

"…It's hard, to lose someone that way," Dalzen said quietly after a while.

"Yeah…" Sakumo thought of the image of his father, sleeping in pain; "I know."

Sakumo touched the picture frame and whispered with tears burning in his eyes and a sob in his heart to his captain, to his mother and father, to Saru-Shin and Harou Nekai, and to whomever else was listening; "I'll never forget you."

.

Keiko opened the door that evening, perhaps expecting to see Sakumo, but she gasped, "Hina!"

The woman walked in somberly, clad in black. "I'm sorry for coming by like this," she said again, "But…I guess, I didn't want to be alone."

Kano hugged her and looked at her. "Oh don't worry—are you all right?"

Hina nodded.

"Please—let me fix you something, come in to the kitchen." Hina followed her and sat down before the counter. "Well I guess…" Chinatsu said slowly. "I want to thank you…for all you've done. I've been…" she couldn't put the feeling into words.

"I know," Kano said to ease her, fixing the steel-grey kettle.

"It's just…I had him back," Hina said after a while. "I had him back. Two years: he was mine again. Two good years. No more missions…no more fights or treks across the country—no more. He was so unhappy…I laughed. He was home."

.


	29. Arashi of the Azurano

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 29  
_**Arashi of the Azurano**_

**.**

**.**

"_'The_ very boy?' he said, 'Yes,' I told him."

Sakumo rolled his eyes as he drew a speck of blood from his thumb with a kunai, and he set the grey scroll on the ground.

"Won't you take any credit?" Naoya smiled.

Sakumo thought of the dark memory of the deep shaft and shook his head, "No, I won't."

_Kuchiyose no jutsu,_

Sakumo held the scroll and stood back and when the smoke cleared, a grey dog began sniffing the air enthusiastically, shaking himself down, and hopping around on all fours under the hot yellow sun. "Hairo…easy now, calm down."

Naoya pulled out the little scrap of blue cloth and knelt down, holding it out for the dog. Hairo immediately took it in his mouth as if it were food. "Hairo, no!" Sakumo said. The fabric fell on the ground and the dog inhaled it with his nose, pushing it along the sand as he took in the scent until it buried under the puffs of sand, and Hairo sneezed.

Sakumo shook his head. "I'm sorry—I should have apologized beforehand," he said to Naoya. "This dog…is a little odd."

The Hyuuga smiled crookedly. "So I see."

Sakumo looked at the dog, keeping his nose level above the sand. "Well, boy?"

The dog's nose tracked north, walking slowly.

They were in Suna now, on the old pass north, just south of where Sakumo was two years ago. The two leaf shinobi had found Murasaki earlier that morning in a station and she promised them safe passage until Iwa's border. Only Masago, as she informed with a wide smile, was no longer Murasaki. She'd married Hideki. But Masago returned sympathy to Sakumo on Dalzen, and said it'd affected her husband very much.

She maintained her hawk in the area, and said if they ran into any trouble, to signal to her. Masago and the others at the station just a few days ago had seen a few bands of men move up north; most of them looked as if they were laborers returning from an assignment. And with that reporting done, the shinobi proceeded up the path.

The beige flagstone road ended with a cover of pure sand after barely a quarter mile. Traces of the Wind regime were frequent, all but an old temple of prayer. Sand surrounded them now as a wide, golden sea, and the red mountains of the north were still there, in the distance. Sakumo watched Hairo progress before them as Naoya picked up the cloth from behind. "Do you really think he went this far north?" Sakumo asked him.

"Seems so," Naoya said simply.

"Thirty bars of silver doesn't seem like much," Sakumo thought. "It's enough to get noticed. Even leaving behind a tuff of fabric. I don't know, something just doesn't seem right to me. Either he's a nervous amateur, or he already has everything he needs, and he doesn't care…"

Hairo stopped ahead and suddenly dug in the sand. The two stopped behind him and watched him uncover a shiny object—the sun shone on it, and a hot silver beam flashed in reverse. "What the…"

"…Speak of the devil," Naoya said tritely in disbelief.

Hairo barked at Sakumo, and he took it before the dog had a chance to run away with it. The slender silver bar was about eight inches in length, and an inch and a half in depth and width. "The heck…" Sakumo looked up at the horizon, wondering if the man had gone into the neutral zone, and possibly, into the tall mountains. If so, they would need clearance from at least some high class rock ninja to pass through the border.

Sakumo passed off the bar to Naoya, who studied it. Hairo sat next to his master, in his shadow, unappreciative of the heat of the morning. "I can't believe it," Sakumo said. "He must have gone this way."

Seeing nothing on the surface but the lord's circled stamp, Naoya closed his eyes and activated his byakugan. From the corner of his eye, Sakumo watched the Hyuuga's eyes read the bar further. Naoya's scan diminished, and he shrugged. "Ordinary enough."

Sakumo looked wearily at the mountains. He tugged at his vest a little at the heat. "He probably went into the neutral zone then," he said heavily.

"Then…" the Hyuuga's sight returned to normal. "We should pick up the pace."

Sakumo smiled furtively. "We could get into serious trouble if we don't handle this properly. I know the western neutral zone, but I don't know Iwa—the land, or anyone from that area."

"He could have gone right at the neutral zone—perhaps into Rain or the Waterfall."

"That's true," Sakumo admitted. "And that's even worse," he said, thinking of the mountain. "I guess we'll have to see."

They ran north, the two of them, Hairo seemed to sense their stay in the vicinity, and he returned back to the summon world himself. The two came upon the great gorge divide, the wide scar in the earth, just as the sun dropped over the west. "…Amazing," Naoya remarked. "It's huge."

Sakumo had little idea as to which form of land he referred to. The deep scar was there before them, the pass to the north on the right, and the mountain, rising up on the right, tall as ever. Sakumo tried to ignore the thought of the antiquated cabin there, hidden in one of the evergreen forests, sitting there, by itself, beside the old shaft.

"Is this really the neutral zone?"

Sakumo nodded. "The east side. Beyond this gorge, there's the basin, it's a forest of pines. All that forest is the neutral zone, and anything north is Iwa's."

Naoya activated his eyes again, and looked at what Sakumo described without moving a single step. The Hyuuga's eyes sight lengthened, with chakra, and saw the steep dip of land to the green, and the incline of the land on the right, on the mountain. He shifted focus, and looked west, down along the gorge . It was lit in warm yellow-orange light, and also uneven lines of blue shadow. The depth was great, at first, but then it inclined up toward a plateau, higher than the basin area, where the rocks shouted upward like the massive mountain, but these rocks were a smoky gray, and triangular; crags, many of them. He followed them, and the triangular rocks rose up and formed a very large circle. It was a ring of smoked grey triangles, and nested in the circle was pure blue: a lake. "I see a lake," Naoya explained. He looked at it intensely, he could see the surface shine as an orange mirror by the setting sun. A deep azure, sapphire blue streaked in shadows between the light. The lake was immense.

"Oh—the Sakai." Sakumo saw the hazy grey far in the distance.

"The Sakai?"

"We never crossed that north either."

"It's huge. I've never seen anything like it," Naoya looked around further, and looked back to his right, between the crags and the green forest of the hidden basin. He blinked and saw smoke—not the color of crag, but actual smoke, rising up in the dusk air. "I…see smoke," he said indefinitely.

"Smoke?"

"There's a village, there…"

"Must be a border town."

"No, it's…not, it's very small, and it looks…almost native."

"I guess I wouldn't know…I've only been to the Tsuraku town."

"How far down is it from here?"

"About five miles south west. How far north is that village?"

"Just…on the other side, west of the basin, east of the lake. It's between both."

"Then…I guess they'd be about the same distance."

"The Hyuuga disengaged himself from the sight and his eyes returned to normal. He blinked several times before asking, "Is that lake a part of the neutral zone?"

"…Technically, yes," Sakumo answered slowly. "There was some fighting a few years ago, but it's lulled now. I'd still hate to go down there though…"

**.**

The next morning though, the two split up. Naoya suggested he take the border town, and Sakumo go north, through the forest basin for a sign of a trail.

Sakumo nodded to him, "Should I meet you back by tonight?"

Naoya smiled, "Sure—I think I can keep an eye out of your progress."

So Naoya stayed on the south side, and Sakumo took the north, along the mountain's pass, and into the basin. He walked along the dusted patch in the shadow of the mountain on the right, and he checked both right, and then left. He traveled most of the afternoon, finding nothing that would indicate anyone had come though. He came out of the forest's edge by evening, and saw to the west, the grey triangles point up and around a grand plateau. The Sakai lake was there, brilliantly lit again by the western sun. It was surrounded by those grey projections, spiking upwards like dark swords, guarding a flat blue gem. Sakumo knew it was about sixteen miles across, only by the mention in one of his sensei's notes that Sakumo had kept.

He could also see to the east of it, as he came out around the clearing, a small village in the distance, looking, as Naoya foretold, entirely native, and also primitive. It was completely uncharacteristic of the border towns he knew. Sakumo decided first to check the lake, and he jumped along the crags to get a better look. He finally landed one tall projection and grinned to himself in awe. The blue water shone like a mirror. Sakumo stared into the scene and it's light and felt easy…until a kunai came flying below his feet some moments later—it landed low—it was a warning shot. Sakumo looked around, keeping in the shadow of the triangular rocks, sending chakra to his feet to help keep his balance. He caught glimpse of the man on his left toward the south side, and Sakumo finally began to feel aware of his presence. He sensed the man moving toward him, so he quickly jumped rocks, down further on the north side, skipping four before he stopped and looked.

"Oi, there!"

The man stood easily on the triangular rocks and smiled broadly, a smile nearly as wide as the lake, surrounded by a dark-brown beard of whiskers. He was no native. He had blue eyes, brown, almost mahogany color hair, and a sky-blue cloak with sleeves, open in the front, trimmed a fine red with a swirl design on the lower sleeve of the same color. He was broad-shouldered and at least six foot. There was a tan and weathered complexion about him as if he'd climbed this area all his life, much like a bird that never migrates. His movements across the rocks were fluid enough to prove as such. Sakumo eyed him in case he should draw another weapon.

"Who are you?" the man asked, in a deep and curious voice.

Sakumo did not know yet if the man was a ninja—Suna, or Iwa, he bore no marking of either nation. But Sakumo had a feeling this was their wandering thief. He looked as if he were a ruffian, but oddly gregarious, in his own unique way. Sakumo stated the obvious owing to his hitai-ate, "Leaf shinobi—who are you?"

"Well! I am glad you asked. They call me Arashi, and I call myself, Arashi, of the Azurano," he smiled warmly, as if to welcome another man into his home.

"…Azurano?"

"This place," he extended his arms, "Is the Azurano, so the natives call it."

Sakumo thought back to the village both he and Naoya had now seen. He'd never heard the name before to describe the area, only the faint legend associated with Sakai lake, as told by the people of Tsuraku. In times of old, it was said the lake had been carved by a powerful ninja, who once scarred the land and then cupped a great basin to store…the trophies of his opponents, and then it was said the basin filled with water, and on the opposite side of the earth, when the ninja died there, he was met with flames, that undulated out from all the hidden monsters lurking in the crags, imprisoning him, and torturing him there, for all eternity. The bottom of the lake was said to be inaccessible; no one knew it's depth. Those who tried to find it out, never returned.

"So," the man smiled cordially, "Why does a leaf shinobi cross here?"

"A mission," Sakumo said. "To find a thief."

The man momentarily looked surprised. "A thief?" he asked. "What kind of thief?"

"A man who steals a petty thirty bars of silver…seen him?"

"Seen him? Good God, I see him everyday!" the man announced joyously. "I had no _idea_ he was 'thief'…" the man smiled vainly. "Truth is, silver sits. People move. So you see, I, make do."

Sakumo secured his stance and hold on the dark grey rock. "Do you confess?"

"I confess sincerely into the mirror of this dear Azurano. Here, we keep no secrets. My silver, is mine."

The man vanished, and Sakumo knew he was on the right side now, on the water. Sakumo met him on the lake and they fought with kunai, but the man steered him back toward the rock—Sakumo was at a knowing disadvantage, so he made good use of substitution. But the man did not seem intent on cornering him or injuring him, merely engaging Sakumo as if he were testing his ability. Sakumo met him on all accounts, and landed back on the open water whenever he could. He hoped Naoya would soon look in his direction and assist him.

The two fought on alone, as the sun dropped behind the triangular points of grey darkness. Sakumo guessed the man had to be in this thirties; he was very agile and landed on the terrain better than he. And again, the man made no move to injure him, but to disable, and Sakumo kept the same intention.

A deep dusk glittered pink-red to his left, and Sakumo misjudged the crag behind him; his back fell hard against it as his feet slid in instability from water to rock. Arashi did not pursue him. The man quietly watched from the deep blue water, and smiled.

Sakumo steadied himself, and took notice the orange was slowly diminishing from the broad blue sky. He would not be able to trust his eyes too much longer—he sensed the man come again to the rocks, and Sakumo reacted to the smooth movements, retreating back uneasily. After two attempts, Sakumo finally raced back onto the calm water—he felt the man still on the rock, but he sensed a different presence to his right—he recognized it was Naoya. Taking this knowledge, Sakumo went after the Arashi on the rock, hoping to guide him out on the open water. Sakumo used a diversion substitution, and then both he and the man raced to the lake; Naoya came up behind, but the man jumped and landed back on a crooked spire, with an intrigued look on his face. Sakumo cursed silently.

The night was now blue, and dark.

"He's the one," Sakumo said to his teammate. "Arashi."

"Is he sensitive to chakra?"

"He must be…at least a little," Sakumo nodded. _Like myself,_ he thought.

"Well, what have we here?" Arashi finally welcomed. "A Hyuuga…? I have never had the honor of…formally meeting one…though I am an admirer…and a 'thief' of your wonderful artifacts," he smiled.

Naoya's mouth dropped open, "What?!"

"Mm," he said, "They are very lovely. The sacred runes are quite fascinating. Very old, _sou desu ne?"_

"My God…What in the hell have you stolen?" Naoya asked incredulously.

"Come now," Arashi said smoothly, "I cannot reveal _everything_ at once. The heavens cannot both show us sunrise and sunset—we get one, then the other. There is patience, in-between."

Sakumo took a step back on the water, ignoring the large bruise on his back from the rock. "Try and get close," he said quietly. "I'll try and get him back on the water, stay close to it—the rocks are very jagged."

Naoya nodded. "I'll move right."

The shinobi split up and Sakumo pulled out one impact seal and wrapped it around his kunai. He fought the man with it, and waited, using his intuition to anticipate the man's movements. They were irregular, as ever, but so easy, like he was a grasshopper in some short-cut grey grass. Sakumo reacted quickly—he sensed the man was going to jump back, and Sakumo threw the blade. It pierced into the rock and the seal exploded, causing the man to briefly re-group on water—Naoya was there on him quickly, using the chakra in his hands to engage the man directly. Sakumo jumped and guarded the man from behind, constantly moving to keep the man on the water, where Naoya had the best chance of moving effectively with the Hyuuga style taijutsu.

But the man increased his own serious after a while as he gave up engaging the Hyuuga, seemingly aware his chakra network would be seriously compromised if he did not react quick enough. Sakumo watched him closely with his teammate, and Sakumo saw him move. Sakumo held out the second kunai he possessed and replaced himself with it, in a kind of reverse substitution. He threw it near Arashi left shoulder. Arashi vanished, and Sakumo had enough time there to block a kick coming his way as his other self vanished, but he was still sent back from the sheer force of it. His left side side-swiped a heavy low rock along the water line, and he fell into the lake. Sakumo recovered and pushed himself up and re-gained balance on the water—Naoya was trying to corner Arashi. Sakumo felt as if his back had been bent a thousand times, but he staggered forward, looking for some kind of opening. He pulled out his last kunai, and moved back into the rocks, slinking toward their position. He saw Naoya be thrown backward by the same kind of kick he'd received. Sakumo dove in with a substitution and the man saw through it and quickly disposed of it and turned around—Sakumo had sated the kunai he held with his rai chakra, and as the man had his own weapon pointed to block, the chakra erupted from blade to blade, glowing white. But normally, Sakumo could feel that chakra completely envelope a man—paralyzing him—Sakumo strangely could not feel that now as their blades were locked—it was negated, or evenly discharged somehow, like the negative ions in a cloud meeting the positive ions of a tree or flagpole. Sakumo began to feel very warm, and he noticed Arashi was as well. They broke apart.

The heat steadily dissipated, but Sakumo still felt vaguely singed somehow. He noticed Naoya recover on the water, and he waited as well, with the sudden stand-still. "…I confess…" Arashi admitted with a curious look in his eyes, "I have never seen white chakra before…Is that natural?"

Sakumo needed the lull, as his back and his left side ached. The muscle was tense and taut, bruised from the rock. "I wouldn't know," he would have shrugged were it not for the pain. "…Are you…also, a rai type?" he wondered.

"Makes two of us," Arashi confirmed with an interested gaze.

Sakumo looked on too, in wonder. The similarities they shared were strange, at best, coincidental, at the least. He was about to glance to Naoya until Arashi suddenly shouted out a word Sakumo did not understand; _"Avanti!"_ And Arashi sprang toward Sakumo with a sudden gusto, as if he'd been pushed along by an unseen gale.

Sakumo leapt back and then used substitution to give Naoya the chance to come in on the north side in his place. But as Sakumo came back around, he was fully prepared in case the man should dodge him, but the man held two kunai in his hands—Sakumo could sense chakra concentrate and condense near the blades, and he saw a flash of blue light release and whip in his direction with a faint crack sound, and Sakumo deflected it with his own chakra—he could see Naoya had done the same. Sakumo watched—and suddenly, the man vanished in smoke. Sakumo felt a hard kick on his back, and he fell down through a scar between the rocks. He fell badly.

**.**

Sakumo woke up in a daze the next morning.

He woke up in a small hut—a stretched canvas roof laid over the narrow beams of wood, and there was a small cutout in the center where a wooden spar stood, about six inches in diameter, and it extended upward through the beige material, holding it up. The canvas above was spotted with some discoloration here and there; the sunlight lit the spots brown and gold. He knew he laid low, on a rug, on level, brown ground. It was dry clay. He sense a familiar presence near him, but Sakumo could not move his head; he felt his spine could not move—his back and head were both heavy, and stiff in pain.

But Naoya moved closer and half-smiled.

Sakumo looked and answered with a short blink, and he looked over as far as he could. He could see a slit of soft white light coming down from the low ceiling between two flaps of the canvas—he guessed the day and time as Naoya asked him how he was.

Sakumo blinked and looked again at the Hyuuga, then to the shadow line of the canvas roof where it met a wooden wall. The beams were small, and very tiny slits of light shone between the wood. The room felt like a circle. "…Heavy," was all he thought to say. "…What happened?"

"You were knocked out," Naoya said, staring also at his teammate's view of the wall, "I couldn't get him. Arashi wanted to treat you—you had a mild concussion; do you remember?"

Fighting the urge to simple shake his head, Sakumo said 'no', gradually remembering the fight on the lake. "...Where are we?" he murmured after a while.

"Oh—remember I saw the smoke? We're close to the lake, this village…is called Azurano. The name originates with the people here, they're native, they speak in a native tongue."

"…Native?"

Naoya nodded, and he looked down at the dirt. "I've never seen anything like this. Arashi says he uses his…'art' of stealing to protect these people," he said with an objective tone. "He said the reason the fight lulled a few years ago was because he bought off a certain business man 'to keep them away from the Azurano'. He said ever since—"

The two heard faint footfalls outside as someone approached: it was Arashi. He ducked his head and came into the hut and smiled. "Well well, very nice," he said, kneeling, as if he were appreciating a blinking clay mold. Arashi looked at Naoya; "Did you tell him?"

The Hyuuga's brow lowered in some disdain, "In effect."

Arashi grinned. "So you see! I am not so bad. A thief is rarely painted as anything else. Oh I do hope you will not take me back with you…!"

Sakumo caught notice Naoya's Hyuuga prided had been injured with the insult. Arashi was seeming to be helping them, for the moment. Sakumo swallowed, "Who are these people here—where did they come from?"

"They are here," Arashi stated. "They have always been here. Well—Since last they migrated from the north, and that was a while back. But they are small, and tired of moving. So, I devote myself to let them stay here."

"With bribes," Naoya inserted.

"With bribes, with force (when necessary), with anything in my arsenal to defend this wonderful wilderness of confusion, the Azurano. The lake, the scars, and hills of land, everything. For them," he added with a distant fondness. "And it was all going splendidly until you two came along."

Naoya said nothing—Sakumo followed suit.

"Well then," Arashi smiled cordially, as if to await some apology. "Recover quickly…so you may go home, my secret-sharer," he winked.

Naoya cast him a stiff look before he exited.

**.**

When the evening came, Sakumo decided to go against everything his muscles were telling him, and try and sit himself up. The ordeal rippled in him tremors of pain in his back and shoulders, but he sat up, gingerly letting his head adjust to the heavy gravity. There was a yellow orange glow of a fire burning outside, Sakumo could see the flickers of light filtering in from the wall, and he could also smell it's sweet scent. "…What's going on?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Naoya said, looking on through the wall with his byakugan. "There's quite a lot of people gathered…There's about forty of them or so—maybe fifty. I see Arashi there—oh, some of the are putting on different garbs, like they're…going to do something. I don't know."

Despite his condition, Sakumo was overly curious to see. So far, he'd only seen a middle-aged woman come in to give them food and water; she'd been dressed in a lilac-color frock, with brown trim, and azure blue beads along her waist. Naoya helped his teammate up, and very slowly, they stepped out of the small hut and Sakumo looked north: many of the tribesmen were gathered around the large red fire in the center, it's flames snapping tall red flags of bright heat into the air, under the indigo sky and white stars. Men and women were gathered around, some sitting, some standing. Sakumo saw few children, and the ones he did see were nearly hidden by their mothers. Generally, they all shared dark color hair and a deeper tan complexion than Aarashi's. They were medium skinned, a little more like Masago's appearance. Sakumo saw bright colors of sashes and tunics, but most of them appeared to wear browns, mixed with beige-color feathers. There were six men receiving long headdresses, in the same color feathers, and red trim.

Sakumo wished to get a little closer, and he moved a little on his own, transfixed by the sight. Naoya helped him, and they sat outside the circle a ways to watch. He noticed a few more people coming out of their small houses to the epicenter of activity. Sakumo saw Arashi hanging back, standing behind a group of people, looking on at the men by the fire.

An old man stood up on the right, near the fire, and raised a long wood shaft, a sash of bright lilac tied near it's top. He addressed them in a low and resonant voice in a different language. The people quieted instantly and listened, and he continued to speak to them, gesturing and looking up at the sky very often. The man slowly lowered the rod and his hand and the six men lined up near the fire, with feathers and blue paint in different patterns across their faces. The old man said one other word and then lowered, sitting.

The six men scattered, each taking position around the fires. Each of their arms rose high up in unison, and they also spoke as one, as if they were reciting a verse. Sakumo imagined it was a ritual of some kind, he could not yet discern what their goal was. The men became silent and lowered their arms.

The began to walk—dance, around the fire, and a drum beat as they chanted and sang, to the heavens, as they looked up, and then down, intermittently.

Naoya's brow furrowed at the sight, unsure of the practice of the native men—Sakumo listened intently, as if it were the only sound in the world:

_"Ane, ane, maridesanté-re-kuno; Ane, ane…"_

The chant-song continued in several parts, the dance started and stopped, forward, and then reverse. Sakumo some of the men around the fire spoke the words along with the group, and others clapped with the drum. And when the drum suddenly ceased, the six men stopped, and recited again in unison. Then one of the men in the headdress spoke alone, and the people responded with a shout.

Sakumo noticed a young girl stood next to the man with the drum, an arrow in her hands, and there was a young boy next to her, they looked no more than ten, and he had a bow in his arms. Sakumo slowly hazarded a guess, and he suddenly smiled, awe-struck with what he was witnessing. "…It's a rain dance," he said to himself.

Beside him, his teammate heard him and Naoya looked at him strangely—"What? How can you tell?"

"The arrow…" Sakumo murmured. "They'll shoot the arrow into the sky, into a cloud," Sakumo looked up and saw no moon, only a few stars peeking out of a misty dark blue void.

"How do you know this?" Naoya asked his teammate again skeptically.

Sakumo watched the man who'd spoken break formation and take the items the children held. Sakumo rose up slowly, to be sure of his balance, he smiled again.

The man said another line of worlds, and the people voiced their approval, a few men gave loud shouts. The man holding the bow and arrow moved, and led the way right toward the lake, and the pointed rocks. Some of the people followed, about twenty-five or so, including Arashi and the two shinobi.

They arrived at the base of a very tall, triangular rock, that stood before the lake. The man addressed the crowd briefly, and then let out a shout. He climbed up to the very top of the rock with the bow and arrow. He shouted again as he stood upon it's peak, and Sakumo watched his arm come back with the arrow and wire taut in his fingers, and the man pointed it upwards, and released the long arrow. It soared high into the opaque indigo, and Sakumo did not see it fall.

The man in the headdress stood for a long time upon the peak, silent, after the people returned to the fire. "…Why did he stay there?" Naoya wondered aloud.

Sakumo looked back at the peak, but could not see the man amid the black shadows. "He must stay as a sacrifice. He must wait for the rain. And when it comes…he'll probably leave something behind—something he valued, or something precious, as a gift of thanks."

Naoya eyed him with those intense white eyes. "How do you know?"

Sakumo smiled privately to himself. "I've heard of it before, a long time ago," The eighteen year old would have never imagined he'd ever see it in person. Sakumo looked up at the sky, half dark, half stars, and he suddenly felt hot. Sakumo didn't moved, but the feeling slowly sank heavier in him, hour by hour.

**.**

Sakumo did not wake the next morning. Instead, Naoya found his teammate in a heavy sweat, from fever.

Arashi was quick to diagnose it was a recent strain of virus that had passed through the area only a year ago—Naoya found it difficult to accept otherwise. He remembered his uncle had come back from about the same time, joyously passing something on to his father and kin. But being subject to Arashi every moment Sakumo was incapacitated, the Hyuuga had to submit to treatment as well. The border town had no hospital, and the med stations the Suna ninja kept south of there was well over the deep scars of earth, at least a day away, assuming he ran all the way there, carrying an eighteen year old on his back. Naoya also could not enter into Iwa without permission, and so the circle curved back to Arashi, who seemed so willing to oblige. He was only gone for a half an hour.

The Hyuuga checked the doses himself with his eyes, and was finally satisfied Arashi wasn't pulling any stunts. Sakumo was given the injection in his arm, and Arashi went back out to consult an old shaman; 'an old medicine woman' from the village. Naoya was shocked he came back with her—and the tall man explained to her about the young man, perfectly well in her own language. She said nothing as she walked in, small, and bent, like a gentle willow limb. She wore a clay-red dress, tied at the waist, and in her brown withered hand, she held a small and short staff, and tied about the top were several very small satchels; one a cornflower blue, another yellow, and another reddish-orange. And each were tied closed with small white string. She did not kneel, but she looked over Sakumo with careful, unmoving eyes. She said nothing.

The old woman slowly turned and walked back out, and continued keeping her head level as she spoke shortly to Arashi. She then walked forward, into the village.

Naoya looked expectant through the open canvas—"So? What'd she say?"

"Oh, so now you're finally interested in alternative therapies!" Arashi grinned as he knelt and peered through the door. "She says the boy must be cleansed."

"…Wha…?" Naoya said, unaware of what exactly that cleansing entitled, "What do you mean?"

Arashi smiled. "Abequeto will help."

"Wha—Who is Abequeto?"

"You'll see."

Some fifteen minutes later, the old woman returned with a tall, young village man, about as tall as Arashi, though incredibly slim and lanky. The man, Abequeto, picked up Sakumo, and Naoya followed him out of the hut in anxious speculation. The man and old woman, with Sakumo, walked west, toward the crags; Naoya and Arashi followed, from behind. "Where is he taking him—?" Naoya felt he had the right to know.

But Arashi raised his right hand in silence. "You will see," he said quietly.

Naoya was not satisfied with his answer, but he looked on ahead anyway, and followed in silence.

They arrived at the base of the plateau of the lake, and Naoya was surprised the young man started to climb the rock to the lake—he was more surprised when he saw the old woman was able to follow him. He stole a look with his byakugan and saw no profound chakra in her. The young man, however, seemed a little more refined; a swift blue wind coursed through his form, making his movements seem fluid. The four stood at a little flat plateau, just wide enough for all of them to stand two foot apart. The woman and the man stood directly adjacent the water, and Naoya looked on with skepticism. Naoya noticed far down on his right, on one of the tallest peaks, a man still sat at the top of it…

Abequeto laid Sakumo on the flat grey rock, and the woman knelt with Abequeto, and she spoke slowly, and quietly. The healer recited a few lines, and then she laid down her short staff before Sakumo. She untied one of the satchels—the light blue, and she emptied a dull grey-lavender pomace and Naoya watched her head lower over her closed hands with the substance. She spoke again, as if in prayer. Naoya could not decipher or guess a single word of it, so instead he looked again more intensely with his eyes and this time, as she poke her words, he saw the blue current in her—a bright breath of cerulean sky. And beyond her, he saw his teammate's uneasy chakra, slinking white in unsteadiness as if it were trying to escape his limbs.

The woman finished her prayer, and her hands came over Sakumo's chest and she released the powder like sand in a curved vile. She made some sort of shape, or a rune like his own clan had once designed. Her symbol was a little like the written symbol of _hito_, but flipped vertically. The last of the powder finished the line of the symbol and she spoke words again. She finished, and the young man also spoke with a surprising deepness. Abequeto then lifted Sakumo—Naoya thought the practice was over, but the man went ahead two short paces and laid Sakumo in the blue water.

The three others were perfectly calm—even Sakumo flinched little, all except Naoya. The Hyuuga held his tongue and simply stared tensely. The young man had a careful hold on his teammate, and the woman suddenly sang a verse of song.

Sakumo was half-submerged. The symbol was dry on his chest, and moments later, his body did have a reaction to the new element—Sakumo's sleeping eyes seemed to travel frequently, and his body seemed to tremor, and finally his head flinched around uncomfortable. Naoya looked on in anticipation of the scene, as if a long tailed blue bird should suddenly fly down from the top of a pointed rock nearby and descend to heal…

No such event happened, but after a while, Abequeto returned Sakumo from the water, and laid him back on the flat rock.

The woman spoke a final incantation. The tremors stilled, and she picked up her stick and stood. She said something to Abequeto, and he picked up the young man, and the four descended down from the lake and the rocks. Naoya still said nothing as they walked back, not until Abequeto and the old woman left the hut, both saying nothing else to Arashi. Sakumo was still unconscious and very still, and Naoya looked at Arashi intensely inside the little hut.

He smiled "The Azurano are interesting people, are they not? Old fashioned—"

"I gathered that much," Naoya said, with a sting of shortness. "What in the world did they do?"

"Exactly what you saw them do. Sprinkle some dust on him, say a little chant, dip him in the lake, and pray to Holy Spirit to purge him clean."

Naoya stared. There was something so frank in Arashi's tone that made Naoya nearly smile. He looked at Sakumo: the lavender dust still laced on him. "…Strange," was all he could think to say. Naoya had been raised as practical as his father, he looked at the symbol dubiously.

"…Strange to you, routine to them," Arashi observed simply. "Well I'd love to stay and chat, but…" he smiled, "I have other things to do."

Naoya's sense of incapability rose in his mind, but he let the tall man go, and the Hyuuga focused on Sakumo.

**.**

By daybreak the next morning, whether by mysticism or simply Sakumo's own immune system, his fever had reduced greatly. Naoya felt confident his teammate was over the worst of it. The old woman saw him once more, too, for a very short time. Sakumo was semi-awake, but he could not say anything, but as he looked at her, he remembered a distinct smell he could not attach an image to. The smell wafted as he saw her; the only thing he thought of was a thistle flower, _azami._

He continued to improve, and Naoya told him the venture of the old woman and 'Abequeto'. The next day Sakumo asked Arashi what her name was, and he replied, "Aiyana, the Spirit lady in the course of healing. She's quite old; she trains a young girl now to take her place. There are…a few other healers in the tribe, but Aiyana's style…involves a form of psychomancy. Spirit communication, through certain herbs and flowers and such. It's all legend."

"…Like a thistle? Or violet?"

"Probably—that is not my field of expertise," Arashi smiled with some vanity.

"Oh—" Sakumo remembered, "Hey, has it rained?"

"Rained? Oh no," said Arashi. "Poor man _Ocho_ is still sitting up there. And I think this drought will continue. They may call on the spirits again."

"Sakumo—" Naoya cut in, "How did you know that was what the dance was, _really?"_

Arashi looked at the young man very curiously; "You knew?"

Sakumo nodded slowly, "…Only when I saw the arrow," he said quietly, remembering the night. "My father…would tell me a few legends, from time to time. I never dreamed I'd see it first-hand."

Arashi smiled, "They are a great people," he said with finality, "The Azurano should remain here, if I have but a final breath," he declared boldly, "They shall stay in peace, to practice their ways."

That evening, Sakumo absolutely restless with thought.

Arashi was a thief, yes, but he did so for the tribe of the Azurano. Sakumo, in all inner entirely, could not argue with that cause; he would even support it himself. Perhaps he would not resort to thievery, but the people deserved this place, and their way of life. Sakumo felt a connection to them he could not fully explain. Though he could not understand them, he did, in a way, through the lost stories of his youth when he was five, or six, or seven. He could hear their stories, whatever they were, in his father's voice, outside on the back porch, or in Zosha's old field, by the garden. Those stories wafted north-west, and here, in this singular place in a basin surrounded by mixed and high wilderness, here, they were personified in colors of red and lilac, blue, and brown. Feathers and skins, it was all here. And it was very calm and quiet, like the same air whenever his father would tell him something after switching off a distant grey static, and after closing a worn, sun-faded red notebook.

Sakumo fell asleep uneasily, worriedly doubting he could bring Arashi to any kind of justice for his actions.

**.**

"…You what?"

The sun was high, mid-day, as Sakumo sat upright, feeling only slightly nauseous. "I don't know," he said slowly again. "If I can continue this mission."

"…What?" Naoya said with more gravity. "Well—look at you, you've almost recovered from—"

"It's not that—it's Arashi. He's helping these people."

"Arashi is a thief, we've been asked here to bring him to justice."

Sakumo continued his eyes trained on the faded red rug. "I'm not sure I can do that. These people deserve help, and protection."

"They're natives Sakumo…I didn't know you empathized with them…They can adapt."

The thought of the Azurano going south to the empty pit of the desert was not comforting. Sakumo felt horrid. There was a deeper meaning in him somewhere he tried keeping out, but it was as relevant as ever. Considering his father, Zensare, Dalzen, and now Arashi, he'd wondered, and even believed, at times, he may not have been cut out, or even meant, to be shinobi.

All it ever brought was pain.

How could he continue to live in such a system; to obey an order blindly, when something else, his heart, contradicted it? He did not like the attention he received as a result of Zensare. That mission only taught him the dire worth in holding on to what left he had. He missed his father more than ever at that moment, and the feeling never lessened. The memories, and Keiko-san, she'd supported him when he needed it most, and he continued, up to now. Sakumo could have easily seen himself giving up had it not been for those around him, believing so much in him. At the same time, his old captain had taught him so much, he felt it would be an absolute betrayal to his memory if he should abandon the system…like his own father had, so many years ago. Coushander had been so brave to continue on without it…But his father had faith in him as well. Sakumo had read the letter a hundred times enough to know. Sakumo inwardly groaned. _They can adapt,_ were Naoya's words. "I can't," Sakumo murmured in torment.

The Hyuuga looked at him with those wide pearl eyes. "What do you mean you can't?" he asked curiously.

"I'm not cut out for this," Sakumo stared dismally at the wood and the narrow slits of light, trying to convince himself one way, or the other.

"Sakumo…you've just had a nasty fever—you shouldn't doubt yourself."

"I should…I'm not fit to be shinobi."

**.**


	30. Confessions And Lamentations

(translation note: teki means enemy)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 30  
_**Confessions And Lamentations**_

**.**

**.**

"Of course you are!" Naoya refuted. "What in the world brought this on? This is more than the Azurano—what are you thinking?!"

Sakumo turned his head away further still and looked on distantly, and said nothing.

Naoya looked at him with concern. "I think you just need more time to recuperate," he said.

"It's—"

But Naoya stood. "I'll come back later," he said vaguely to the convalescent, and left Sakumo alone to think.

Sakumo sighed and groaned again in crisis of conscience. Naoya was right. This doubt did run deeper than the Azurano.

Eventually deciding it was too hard to think in the brown confined space, he walked outside on his own, draping his green vest on his back, over his shoulders. He sat outside the canvas hut and looked on at the people walking in the village for a moment. The round campfire was charred and empty. Sakumo stared at the ground in a hopeless confusion, thinking about Dalzen and his father, and the quiet people here.

They were quiet, too, and after a while, he did not notice one of them walking up to him. He seemed to have temporarily lost his sense of chakra or presence; he heard a young woman's voice say, curiously, 'Hello', with a slight whisp of an accent that reminded him of a gentle wind coming between the grey crags by the lake.

Sakumo looked up and saw the young woman, perhaps his age, with a wonderful smile. She had a beautiful medium complexion, wearing a lilac-color dress. She had dark brown hair, and there was some brilliant mystic in her eyes that resembled a dark violet flower, mixed with brown, as if that flower bloomed at night, sparkling all shades of the rainbow in the darkness. Sakumo had never seen such deep, warm eyes like hers before, in all his life. He forgot what she said and he smiled awkwardly, his collar low. "…Hello," he unknowingly returned.

She sat down next to him and said, "I am Satoka. Arashi…teached me your language. I am sorry if I am not good," she smiled apologetically.

"Oh—no," Sakumo smiled, mixed in thought. He looked away, for fear he was staring at her beauty. "Oh—I'm Sakumo," he said, "Hatake, Sakumo."

"Arashi said…you are ninja?"

"Yes," he looked at her briefly, "For Konohagakure. That's in Konoha."

"Konoha…trees?" she asked.

Sakumo nodded.

"There is…a legend, we have; a place…hiding, in trees. I have never see that place, but I can…think, of what it may look," she thought wistfully. She gazed at him curiously, "You live there?"

He nodded again, and she smiled, looking at his pale face and hair, and his green vest. "Your friend…he is Konoha, too?"

"Yes, we're both shinobi."

"Shinobi…"

"Another word for ninja," he smiled, stealing a look at her pretty face. Though what he said, did not really explain it. Shinobi was meant for ninja who followed the path to the end of their lives, with a constant respect and heart in their soul—"Shinobi—of the heart, and of the blade," he added.

"A warrior," she smiled.

He smiled as well, and he nodded, "A warrior."

"My people…we call them…_apauto_."

Sakumo admired the word. "So…I guess Arashi is an _apauto_, to your people."

"Arashi…? Apauto? He does not fight," she stated.

He looked at her strangely; "…He doesn't?"

"No," she said, "He comes…to us…very little. He is a friend; he lives alone. Is he your friend?"

"Oh…no…" Sakumo slowly realized. "Oh no Naoya…" _How could I be so stupid…?!_ he thought wildly. "Oh—please excuse me, I'm sorry, I need to see my friend—Where does Arashi live?"

"…In the rock, there," she pointed far north along the crags.

"Thank you," He left his vest in a hurry, and walked a little unsteady, but gave up and trotted quickly to the place where she pointed, feeling as if he were the dumbest person in all the world. He was not doing Dalzen any proud…He walked around, through the crags just beyond the village. Sakumo did not have to look long—Naoya had decided to engage the man on his own; a kunai whizzed by on his right, and Arashi landed before him, Naoya landing not far behind. "…Sakumo," his teammate said.

"Oi, there," Arashi smiled. "I could use some help."

Sakumo's brow tensed in a weak glare. "…You liar," he said, "You don't really fight for these people, do you?"

"…Of course…" Arashi smiled, "What would give you reason to think otherwise…?"

"Do _you,"_ Sakumo said again with a hardness.

Arashi laughed a little, "What's it matter? The village serves me well enough…as a convenient shield for my opulence. All the fighting has stopped for over two years now, these people will be here a long time in the neutral zone."

Sakumo head lowered as a dog in a singular sense of shame. He only wished he could bury himself with that feeling, it seemed to be his lot in life—how could he have believed this man? Sakumo pushed aside his weakness, and readied himself as Arashi stared proudly, "I will not let anyone take my wealth! Money!" he said, and seemed to quote, "Is the only thing of value in this world!"

Sakumo looked up at Naoya as Arashi concluded his truth; Sakumo inclined his head to the left, and the Hyuuga smiled and gave a quick nod.

The two shinobi split directions, and Arashi closed his mouth and drew another blade. Naoya advanced on him with the Hyuuga style taijutsu, and Arashi blocked it well, learning from his last encounter, moving away.

Weaponless, Sakumo thought quickly of how they could nab such a moving target as Arashi…only one solution gradually came to his mind, naturally, it was something he'd never tried before, but his sensei had always pushed him to be resourceful. He quickly re-grouped with Naoya as Arashi was moving further up and Sakumo asked to take the lead. Hesitant, Naoya reluctantly said yes, only because his teammate seemed to have a plan in his eyes as Sakumo told him, "Just cover me, when I fall."

But Sakumo left the jackknife in his waistband, and he jumped forward without anything, but Sakumo faked it, and he pulled something out from behind him and he made the move to strike. Arashi countered, and Sakumo let the man's kunai hit it's target. The blade went in Sakumo's shoulder, much to Arashi's surprise—Naoya moved in immediately as Arashi moved back.

Sakumo kneeled on a little plateau of charcoal-color rock, and smeared the blood on his thumb, hoping what he'd done was enough. He summed the red hunter, and looked up, and waited.

Naoya was trying to steer him to the lake, but Arashi preferred his home of the pointed rocks. Sakumo heard two blades clink, and he watched the two break apart. _Come on…_And as Arashi looked down at Sakumo's position, that's when the red hunter dog appeared in a cloud of smoke—Arashi suddenly gave a short howl: the dog had bitten the man's leg, where blood had dripped from the blade, across his blue cloak. "Naoya—now!" Sakumo shouted as the man fidgeted.

The Hyuuga moved swiftly, and sent a palm of chakra to cut points of the man's chakra network, and Naoya succeed. Arashi became top-heavy as he was quite effectively knocked out. The red hunter released his hold and the man, simultaneously, dropped like a stone, falling unconscious.

"…Sakumo," Naoya hopped down and knelt beside his teammate.

"I'm fine, I'm…fine," Sakumo said, his right hand clutched his left shoulder. The mahogany-color dog jumped down as well, and trotted to his master.

"We need to treat that," Naoya told him, but Sakumo shook his head: "No, wait…" he said, ignoring a familiar heat swelling in him. "Korado…can reverse summon Arashi for safe keeping—the silver too. Just go on; tie him up."

**.**

Sakumo survived without pain medication, and without antibiotics. Naoya found nothing in Arashi's cave-home in the crags, save the silver, a multitude of other interesting objects to him, and other things that he had no idea to whom they belonged. There was no conventional medicine in the village, either, but more mysticism. They were devoid of their translator now, but the old woman could recognize a person in pain. Another woman came by though, a very young woman, who did speak their language, and she told Naoya what she'd told Sakumo.

Satoka learned their friend Arashi was a _teki_ of Konoha, and she finally understood why the ninja visitors had come.

After two days (and a few incantations) later, Sakumo sat outside the hut and continued, quietly, to frown upon himself with disgust. "…No, I'm serious," he said, fighting a pang in his shoulder. His fingers twitched in the sling. "You should report me."_ I could probably use another punishment,_ he thought sardonically.

Naoya sighed loudly—half-smiling, "You did the right thing—you're chakra was out, how could you know he was lying? I think _I_ believed him for a moment—"

"But you held to the mission. I didn't."

"You had a fever—"

"I had my conscience," Sakumo fought the urge to shake his head; he could not shake the doubt of the path in his heart. Whenever, lately, he was looking into that deep and foreboding place, he felt home, and that feeling molded into the image of that home. It was all he wanted. It was all he knew, now, that he ever wanted. The fields needed tending, the garden need attention. It needed to live again, and the dry yellow stalks should have come back by now, but it hadn't. Sakumo didn't have the time, or resources. What once was so routine…was now, gone.

But warriors were not distracted by such thoughts.

Sakumo restlessly looked up at the calm blue sky, thinking, _I'm not made for this, I just know I'm not._

And yet, here he was, in this place.

Why?

It was ingrained.

He'd found so much admiration, fascination, with the brave men. Dalzen let him remember the power in a smile, an event so small in his mind now, but the honor of that smile still remained: he saw it frequently. With Dalzen, with Hizuren, and even Naoya. It was an honorable calling, accepted by those men of honor, and he stayed with it, all those years, not knowing his own father had tried and moved on. But here he was, ready to give up on account of those convictions. What if Arashi had been truthful? Sakumo would have abandoned another mission, even subverting it, just to protect a worthy cause in his mind, the Azurano.

Sakumo shook his head, in a mixture, of doubt, fear, and shame.

Everything had changed after his sixty days of punishment had been over. And he thought he'd been getting by, till then. Now, he was uncertain. He thought about the small patch of land, and the unruly red rhubarb: it probably needed picking.

**.**

He sat outside that night too, by himself, watching the fire burn from a distance. Some villagers were gathered around it, working silently, making little noise. He saw a group of children, near it, for the first time, being entertained by an animated storyteller. Sakumo entertained a thought he longed to listen in, but he kept silent, to himself. Again, there was a dizziness, a fog, in his mind, keeping him from sensing much. But he looked up, as he dozed idly, and he saw a young woman approach him; medium-skinned, her whole form glowing radiantly by the fire's orange light. He recognized her, and she smiled down at him. "Are you…all right?" she asked, sitting beside him.

He nodded, trying to tear himself from her glittering, pensive eyes.

She smiled, looking on at the fire. "You will…return the treasure?" she asked.

"Yes," he said; the silver was secured, and accounted for, all thirty bars of it. Naoya had told him all about the other things had been in there…

When he did not say anything else, she looked at him, "Then…" she said slowly, translating her thoughts, "You will leave—when you are better?"

Sakumo broke into a smile, "Yes, yes we will."

"I will…be sad," Satoka smiled to him.

He looked at her, and he smiled in awe. He could not tear himself away from her deep eyes, and she too gazed at him curiously, but he felt as if her eyes mirrored not only him, but all the land, as if he were some small piece of the grander view of her home, the Azurano. He guessed at one point, his eyes might have held the same kind of scope and wonder as hers, but only as a child, roaming his father's yellow fields and land, with nothing to do. But the Azurano was considerably larger, and her eyes, a gentle window to that lake and land…Sakumo seemed to fall into them, but the two both heard quiet footsteps—and the two both looked away.

It was a tall man, though very slim, and he looked at Satoka with concern. Sakumo did not understand him, but he asked her in the native tongue, "Father sent me, he wished to know why you talk to this boy."

Satoka rose up slowly to meet her brother, "I talk because I'm curious," she said simply in the native language, "I have not done anything wrong."

"Father says he caught the fever, that he is unclean. Father does not like you near him."

Sakumo stole a look and saw her soft face frown. "They are _apauto_, they are good men."

Abequeto seemed to sympathize in a reserved way. "…Will you obey?" he asked.

She looked down.

Finally, she turned and smiled to Sakumo, "I will…see you again. I promise."

Sakumo smiled and nodded—Abequeto led her away, toward the fire.

He watched them go, and Sakumo's intuition lowly muttered to him he'd been snubbed somehow, one way or the other. He hoped he would see her sweet face again, and he sat there quietly, in a bit of a fever, one he did not know to attribute to the virus, or shy affection. He concluded maybe it was a little bit of both.

**.**

The leaf shinobi left the Azurano two days later, and returned home four days later, with the stolen cargo and Arashi, to face trial. It was a Friday surprise to the ruling lord, and Sakumo was ready to be done with it. The silver was returned, Arashi was in prison, facing trial, the shinobi were paid, and Naoya turned himself back to the missions office to file a full report, and pointed Sakumo toward the hospital to get checked out. Sakumo asked him again if Naoya would write a _detailed_ report, but again the Hyuuga refused to note any illicit behavior. He did however note every single piece of Hyuuga history hidden among the crags, uncovered by the Byakugan. There were twenty pieces of old Hyuuga relics Arashi mercilessly stole, dating back generations. After the report was filed, the objects were brought by Naoya to an examiner's lab to check authenticity, and once the items passed his eyes, they were brought back to the Hyuuga compound, before the eldest head of house to see. And young Naoya had run like a crazed man, in pure excitement, to get them there.

**.**

Sakumo walked slowly, and aimlessly—he stopped and stared up at the sky; the sun over Konoha was setting, in the west, not over a grand lake, but a massive hedge of green trees. The young man missed the openness. He felt enclosed. He sighed and spun himself around towards that immaculate building, so clean and sterilized with those doctors in their antiseptic white coats…Sakumo stopped short again. He turned around, and went home.

**.**

Jiraiya stared at his brother two days later, as his ani lay silent in a hospital room.

It was a slow Sunday night, Nichiyoubi, in June. Jiraiya looked up at the clock and sighed. He looked back at his brother's face and cupped his hand and rested his head in his palm, with his arms on his knees. He did not think his brother had moved all day; he knew, he'd been there. And he continued to sit there for a while, growing restless, until he saw his mother finally come in, after what felt like hours. "Hey there—did he wake up?" she asked.

Jiraiya shook his head. "When will he wake up?" he asked, as if expecting an answer.

"I don't know," she said. Keiko felt the teen's pulse herself, and it was even. She checked his forehead beneath his bangs: the skin was warm. "He's still fighting the infection," she told her son.

Jiraiya looked up at her. "Does he have the flu?"

"A fever," she said. "From a virus…a bad one at that," It wasn't high, but it was still holding constant. Unfortunately, Sakumo had caught another infection in his arm from a wound just on the left of his shoulder. Sakumo was on antibiotics, but so far, he wasn't responding—the chakra healers had come in and healed the skin most of the way—Kano had found him early that morning, unconscious, after she realized he and Naoya were back, and the teen had not visited the hospital like Naoya had thought. It'd been in the Hyuuga's report Sakumo had contracted the fever when they entered the neutral zone, thus prolonging their stay, and he'd received the wound from the thief before they left. It was obvious to her Sakumo had not replaced the dressings since they briefly stopped by the Suna's northern medical station. The gauze was off now so the skin could breathe.

But Kano couldn't keep aside a feeling that something else was wrong with the boy. A feeling that told her she might only know when he woke up, and right now, she did not know when that would be.

Jiraiya was disappointed.

**.**

The seven year old was distracted the following day. He could not explain why, merely telling Shodaime's own granddaughter to mind her own beeswax. "How dare you talk to me like that!" the honey-brown haired girl exclaimed with a passion, "I can't believe you! If sensei were here right now I'd tell on you!"

"You tell on me anyway."

"I'll still tell on you!" she said, as she had not heard him. "You are so rude! You have no manners!" she stated.

"You don't have any manners, either."

"You call me _lady_ Tsunade," she resumed hotly, not hearing his last comment either. "Do you hear me?_ Lady_ Tsunade. Got it?"

"But I got into trouble for calling you _Lady_ Tsunade, you said you didn't…want…Yes _Lady_ Tsunade," he corrected obediently.

"Good," she folded her arms, and spun on her heel, thus ending a seven year old's conflict.

Jiraiya rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue behind her back.

The dark-haired boy on his left smiled.

**.**

Jiraiya ran back to the hospital after the day's mission ended. He met his mother on the second floor, and then hurriedly ran up to the third floor to see his brother, half expecting to see him upright and awake. Jiraiya walked in to the quiet room, and climbed up on to the chair, by the second bed by the window with high expectations and suddenly grinned in answer to them, "Ani-chan!"

Sakumo continued to blink slowly through a heavy hot fog, curling his form, and he looked at the young boy and his wide smile.

His ani slowly smiled back, and Jiraiya leaned closer, looking him over, "Are you ok?"

Sakumo gave a short nod.

"Do…do you need anything?"

Sakumo shook his head.

"Oh…" Jiraiya looked down for a moment, and then back in his brother's eyes. "Where did you go?" He had to wait for an answer—Sakumo seemed to swallow hard, and he finally said, very quietly, "…Azurano."

Jiraiya hadn't heard of the place before, but Sakumo slowly clarified, "Suna…the north."

"Oh," Jiraiya said, sensing it pained his brother to speak. The boy leaned back. "Well I missed you," he said. "You're always gone, for weeks at a time. I miss you."

Sakumo slowly smiled. "…Gomei."

Jiraiya grinned, "It's ok," he said, and bounded into detail about his day.

**.**

She had a hard time shooing him out, but she led her son home, and then she came back later in the night to check on Coushander's older boy.

Kano came in to the room quietly, and walked up to the second bed, by the window, showing the dark of night between the curtains. Sakumo slowly opened his eyes, and looked at her there, on his left. She smiled, pulled up a chair, and held his hand.

Sakumo felt nearly delirious in the heat. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling an intense sense of vertigo, as if the bed beneath his neck had suddenly dropped down to the floor—he gripped the sheets to stop himself, but it did no good; he felt as if he were falling backwards. Nausea reared in his stomach. He sweat. It was a horrid, long night, culminating in inner turmoil.

The next day was not much better; by the end of it, he was wildly frantic for someone to knock him out for good. At least, just for a little while, to prevent him from suffering under his head with the flares of disorientation and memory. He was semi-awake that night when Keiko-san came in at the late hour, and he blinked several more times to notice her in full. He watched her smile again, and he knew who she was. "Hello," she said quietly, and she moved a few strands of hair off his damp brow. "It's going to be all right," she assured, taking her seat. "Just hang in there, it's going to be all right." There was a softness in her voice he also recognized.

And for no reason, or perhaps for every reason, Sakumo began to cry.

She continued stroking his hair and holding his hand, telling him he would recover. In recoveries—in any period of recuperation, it was important to reassure the patient, and to remind him of the fact, he would recover. She'd done it many times before. It was easy for anyone to fall into the chasm of their pain into hopelessness or despair, after so many days. Encouragement and love were necessary to their support and faith. Even after Coushander, even after Dalzen…she had to produce a shred of hope in him somewhere; the boy young, yet, she thought. "Hang on," she said quietly again, "You can do it, it's all right…"

**.**

"Can you do it?" brown-haired Hizuren asked them. He received a mix of a salute with a great gusto of 'Yes, sir!', a confidant smile and an even more assuring 'Yes sir,' and then a small nod from the quiet little one on the right. "No…" Sarutobi smiled to himself, "I mean can you do it without raising trouble. You must be _very_ respectful," he explained slowly. "Do not speak without being spoken to. No jokes, no pranks, and no bad humor. Is that possibly understood?"

Sarutobi received the same sundry mix of answers, and then he sighed. He laughed. "Well, ok then…"

He led them early that morning, not to a mission, but a special meeting. One of Konoha's ruling daimyo was arriving in the ninja village today, three days before the annual chuunin selection exams. Nidai had wanted Hizuren to meet the man, and so he did, students and all. And Hizuren ended up being pleased with his motley crew's behavior, in the beginning. He suspected only behind the scenes were they beating each other up, namely Jiraiya and Tsunade, whose tempers had lately been flaring again in juvenile delinquency.

Activity in the village itself had picked up considerably, as ninja of other countries gathered at the selection, carrying on an old tradition, rooted back before the villages were created. Last year, the event had been in Suna. Hizuren let the rascals have a quick break from their duty at the noon hour, and little did he know, they'd come back disheveled—Jiraiya turned un-presentable after only four small hours. He'd gotten on the sassy girl's nerves yet again, and his blue kimono robe was splotched in brown mud. Orochimaru was silent as the girl explained a just cause for rationing out her punishment. Young Jiraiya's pride was abnormally vacant; he didn't refute her claims.

Hizuren was shocked. He kicked the three out before the daimyo saw them.

He punished them later.

Tsunade and Jiraiya were sentenced, afterwards, and Hizuren inadvertently talked them back into their quick tempers, even though he was speaking as a good man of peace. As soon as he stopped talking, Jiraiya grumbled, "Are you done?"

"…Yes…you may go."

"Good, cause I have to get back to see—"

"See who?" Tsunade asked.

"None of your bee—usines!" Jiraiya stopped, sensing a cold stare from his sensei. "…Lady Tsunade," Jiraiya added as politely as he could, and stomped off quickly in dirty clothes before anyone could detain him otherwise.

**.**

"Jiraiya! What in the world happened?!"

Unsuccessfully suppressing the fact he was beaten up by a girl, Jiraiya shrugged, "Can I see Sakumo?" The mud stains were quite dry.

"…No!" she exclaimed, nearly mortified. "Let's get you home, good Heavens—through and through!" She turned him over quickly, and ushered him out the door, leading his shoulders.

"But how's Sakumo?" he protested.

"Better than you," she muttered, "You need a bath, you crazy monster," she informed.

"Okaa…" he groaned.

**.**

Sakumo looked up the next morning and watched daybreak filter in from the window. He wished he could get up and clear the faded violet curtains. It was very early—the light was a very soft photo blue, and at any second, the blue would fade to white as the sun climbed over the mess of trees in the distance, and turn the white into a brilliant yellow, and then into an intense orange as the eye of the sun looked upon the small world from it's dark cove. The orange faded back to a mute yellow, and Sakumo began to feel an odd sense of normalcy in the room, and outside, over the village; it was the sense of knowing no one else knew of what he'd gone through for eighteen long days. It was the initial sense of solitude, feeling completely alone in a village of thousands of people.

But he soon heard the door handle on his left and he turned his head slowly and looked; it was Jiraiya's mother. She smiled, surprised he was awake. "Good morning, how are you?"

His head moved, and he made a noncommittal noise, from flat on the bed, staring somewhere at the wall and the ceiling.

She touched his forehead with the back of her hand, and smiled again. "It's finally gone down. You don't feel as warm," she said.

He did not. And yet it meant little. Sakumo was preoccupied with a sudden chill in him, even as he felt warm. "Oh…" he said, unsure if he should dare say anything at all, as he was thinking of the Azurano.

"Do you feel better? What's wrong?"

Sakumo's face contorted as he shook his head; "Everything," he murmured.

She pulled up the chair, and laid a hand on his arm, "You will get better," she said confidently, "You're getting there now."

"No," Sakumo's eyes shut as he shook his head. "No it's not that. It's not that at all."

His voice trembled. She looked on with worry: "What is it?"

Sakumo's lip curled and uncurled. He took a deep breath and told her: "I almost quit the mission."

She stared—Keiko held his hand, encouraging him to explain. She heard his voice continue shaking, "I was such an idiot—but it seemed right at the time," he inhaled sharply. "I can't do this—what good am I," He shut his eyes and saw his captain's face, and felt shame, "I just can't," he said growing hot again, from his own emotion; _Dalzen._ Sakumo kept his eyes closed, "I can't do this anymore—I just can't, I'm not fit to be shinobi!"

The boy's emotion touched her own; "Oh…sweetheart…" she said, touching him.

"I can't do it!" he said. "I can't! I can't make a simple decision—I nearly threw it away—I almost trusted that man; I can't be relied upon to anyone, and I—" In his mind's eye, Sakumo continued seeing his captain. Sakumo cried. "Sensei," he mourned with a sorrow as deep as his father, _"Sensei…"_

Tears dropped from her eyes as she understood where the source of the boy's sorrow and confusion lay. She missed the tall man with a deep hurt as much as he and her voice was light as she tried to soothe Coushander's boy.

**.**

Esteemed Naoya came in that day to see him, but Sakumo was fast asleep.

Or so he pretended.

**.**

Sakumo sat upright that evening, without much feeling now of disorientation, and entertained his younger brother with short questions, and very short answers. He was sorry the seven year old did not understand him, but the seven year old was eager to talk about himself, and Jiraiya was probably sorry his ani could not take interest enough to understand him, either. Still, the boy continued, and Sakumo listened, occasionally. "Niisan," Jiraiya finally said, hoping to get his brother's attention, "Are you still hurt?"

Sakumo almost spat a myriad of answers, but he looked and at the young face, and turned away, trying to cool his anger he could not give just cause to. "Yes, I am," he said coolly.

"Oh…" Jiraiya said. "Is it—your wound, does it still hurt?"

"No, now please stop asking me these questions," Jiraiya leaned back, surprised by the tone in his brother's voice. He expected it would change, but he was still astonished. "I'm tired Jiraiya," Sakumo told him, which was true in a physical aspect. "I'm sorry."

Jiraiya looked down, and did not know what else to say.

The boy left soon with his mother, and when she came back, she was surprised to see the eighteen year old sitting up-right, indian style, staring down at the sheets restlessly, with deep interest that superceded the sound of the door opening. He sensed her presence, and did not move his head. She looked on at him strangely, having the odd motionless calm of a reposing Buddha, with the stark seriousness of the stone. He looked as if he were about to commit himself to the deep in self-punishment.

"I was ready to abandon the mission," he said to her. "I—"

"No one ever said it was easy," she gazed at him. It looked as if that statue's hair had to be trimmed in the back. She drew a seat, and still, he did not move. She smiled, sat, and said calmly, "We thought, after a year in, we thought Dalzen would abandon us in the land of mist," She finally provoked a reaction in him, and Sakumo looked at her in a sudden flash of bewilderment. He turned away; "But—"

"He was very angry with Saru. I think Coushander volunteered to show him back to the docks once. Dalzen didn't want to be there. It wasn't easy for him, but he stayed, and so did we, until the end."

Sakumo's woe shrank a little smaller, "Why? Why did…he stay?"

She smiled again, "…Who knows? He never told me. But we knew. When your father nearly died, after he was caught, your uncle saved his life, and that was a moment so incredible…we were all changed by it, Dalzen moreso than the rest of us. He was shocked Saru had done it, even if they were brothers by blood—someone had cared enough to save Coushander's life. Someone cared enough to _try_. Dalzen hadn't ever known anyone like that, he never had cause to, or reason to trust or believe in the good of man," she paused, "And it is rare, but in Saru, it was so evident. The two had a talk. And after that, it was different. We were a team, for the first time. When I got back," she smiled, "My parents never wanted me to go on another mission ever again—my father wanted me to quit, so badly, but I didn't want to. I felt like that was what I was meant to do—your uncle instilled that in me, giving me confidence in myself. I transferred to a med station north of there and I still went on a few missions from time to time. Dalzen and Takato went on so many together…" she sighed quietly. "Sometimes I think the young have to mature so quickly; Sakumo, you're still so young, you've got your whole life ahead of you, however you want to live it, no one will judge you, but try not to worry so much, you'll be all right. We've all gone through it before, and we have faith in you," she smiled.

Sakumo turned away, mixed in feeling, "…I don't have faith in me," Sakumo's brow furrowed, "What if I am told to follow an order I don't want to?" he said shakily.

She looked at his fragile form, and could not readily answer.

"I'm not…I don't feel like a shinobi—but I can't abandon it; it's the only thing I know to do."

Keiko felt for him deeply, without the guidance of the one sensei who'd shaped the boy so much.

Dalzen's death was only a month behind them now.

"If it's the only thing you know to do, you must have some idea as to how to do it," she half-smiled.

Sakumo turned away at the influx of her words. "I guess," he allowed.

"Sakumo…I cannot tell you half the things Dalzen said about you," she hesitated in her own emotion, "But I can tell you he believed in you with all his heart. Whatever you want to do, he'd be proud. Just try not to worry so much. It will all come on it's own, trust me."

Sakumo's eyes had welled. He said nothing. _…It's who I am, and damn any sir who does not……_ a low voice once said. Sakumo had stood behind him.

**.**

"…You don't act like a lady," he muttered.

The dark-haired boy smiled.

"What did you say?"

"Nothin'."

The little girl stared him down with superior nut-brown eyes.

After their duty was over for the day, Jiraiya ran down the streets in a hurry, but he was distracted he had not seen tomboy-Tsunade leave. He stopped, and sure enough he found with his black eyes, the blonde-haired girl had followed him, "Why are you in such a hurry lately?" she asked him. "Who do you see at the hospital? Do you run back to see your mommy?" she teased.

Jiraiya winced. "It's none of your business!" he exclaimed. "Aren't you late for a prissy tea ceremony or something?"

"You're just jealous!" she concluded. "You'll never be as good as a Senju."

"Yeah? Well I bet Sakumo could take on your otoussan like nothing flat!"

"…Sakumo? Is that who you see? Who's that?"

Jiraiya's bottom lip curled, unsure whether to continue or stop there.

She smiled, "Well? Who is he?"

"He's—" Jiraiya hesitated. "Someone I know!"

Jiraiya ran.

His ani was awake and upright, staring out the window, until he heard his younger brother bound in as if there were several angry doctors chasing him. Jiraiya closed the door, and walked forward, looking up at him with intense, round dark eyes. Sakumo looked at him oddly, "Um, hello."

Jiraiya's small brow furrowed, and he climbed up on the bed, creating a stranger look from his niisan. "What's…up?" Sakumo asked him.

"I don't want you to change," the boy said earnestly. "I want you to stay here with me, and I don't want you to be mad at me."

"…Mad? Jiraiya I'm not mad, not at all, I'm just…mixed-up right now, and I'm sorry. I'm not angry."

His younger brother looked a little relived. "Kaa-chan says…you're sad. Oh Sakumo, please, I don't want you to go away again, I can't stand it! Please say you'll stay. At least stay close to the village!"

Sakumo slowly smiled. "…And do what?"

"You could help me—show me things, like before—"

"Jii, I can't be your sensei."

The boy's disappointment crept over his face smally, "Oh I know," he said quickly. "I just wish…"

Sakumo knew it. "We're ten years apart, I can't change that," he said slowly, hoping the boy could understand. "I'll always be ten years older, I'll always look that way, I'll get wrinkles sooner and all that, and I'll…be busy, with my own life. I'm sorry I can't be there for you as much as you want, I can try, I will. I love you, you're my little brother."

Jiraiya struggled with his emotions, trying to cope with their situations. "I don't want you to go away," he said again.

Sakumo didn't really either, but he felt a strong instinct that let him say, "Sometimes, it's necessary. But, it must be done," he said. "It's been done for a long time now, since before you or I was born…" Sakumo suddenly smiled, "It's not about to change."

"So…" Jiraiya slowly looked up at him, "…You'll still go away, on missions?"

Uncomfortably, his niisan didn't speak.

"Oh! You're so brave—" Jiraiya beamed.

"No, I'm not," Sakumo refuted, "I—"

"But you are! I want to be as tough as you!"

Sakumo smiled oddly, "Well I'm not strong, either—"

Jiraiya leaned and wrapped his arms around his brother's waist: "I'll come with you, when I'm older," he said, or vowed.

Sakumo smiled, and returned the affection and held his little brother.

It seemed they both needed a little something to hold on to.

**.**

"I decided…I want to get out of here."

She smiled. "You're fever's gone. The infection is under control."

"I want to go home…And then…go back to work."

Like the field, it was too ingrained to know any different.

**.**

_Son of Morino Korzenei and (Shibame) Hitomi—'I have suffered over my fate, the fate of my family, my country, and because of this suffering, I have discovered in myself a calmer outlook on the many problems of life whose motto was, is, and will forever be "usque ad finem". You see now, my son, I continue thy fight, even now. Nosce te ipsum.'_

The words were written, Hina told her, four months before Korzenei fell into his final despair and committed suicide. But Sakumo looked on them with a futile sense of hope. Dalzen had devoted so much to him, in a not too different spirit than those words. He was a true shinobi, in the truest sense of the word, leaving no one behind, and the fighter…sometimes Sakumo thought the man was infallible. And he wondered, if in the while of his shaky course, in his budding youth, if he could ever hope to be a shinobi such as he……

**.**

A little over a year later, in early October, Sakumo was once again dividing his time between home, his little brother, and also the increasingly fierce situation along the land of earth's eastern border with the waterfall country. Jiraiya's sensei had expressed to Sakumo concerns the past few weeks that one of the local daimyo of an earth province on the south east side was becoming increasingly belligerent with the people on the waterfall side, as a mine there near the western city of Takamatsu had shut away due to stagnant production. The commodity was silver, and the lord, in debt. "Little things like this have good tendency to turn wrong," Hizuren echoed a sentiment Dalzen had held. But few in Konohagakure were paying attention to the situation for obvious reasons, save himself and a few others. Most of the shinobi in the leaf were preoccupied with events much closer to home, especially that of a grand change of the era: the next summer, an announcement was going to be made by Nidaime about the future succession of the hokage; many believed the Senju would step down within a year or two, or three. And that fueled the shinobi in the village with crazy, but patriotic ideas of their own.

But Sakumo, like Hizuren, became decently interested in the situation up north for that very reason: all great concerns grew from small concerns. It held a place in the back of his mind without any moral ambiguity: the lord was ruining himself, and now, he might resort to violence for hope of stability. The waterfall village had no shinobi capable enough to impose a threat of retaliation if their country's people were threatened, their only hope would be defense, at best. The earth daimyo had even bought off a former taki man of late, the strongest shinobi waterfall had possessed, next to their lead shinobi, who was now, effectively, nothing more than a lost traitor and mercenary. And before the bastard traitor left the country (escaping his own imprisonment years and years ago) he took with him the _kinjutsu jiongu_, one of the most secret jutsu taki had possessed (and rumored of course the most forbidden). Kakuzu came back though, recently, in the daimyo's service, and stole again, this time, the remaining fortunes of the Takamatsu mine. But it amounted to little more than pocket change which continued to buy Kakuzu's services, and did not quell the daimyo's anger, or his grand plans, whatever they were. The tsuchi daimyo was rogue, grasping any money he could. The Waterfall village were taking steps in places, should the mine and village be threatened, the daimyo had half-owned that mine, and naturally, he felt entitled to it, without a bead of sweat to mar his high and polished brow, sending a few towns people up the wall, so to speak. And there was something in that man's character Hizuren said felt strange. "The tsuchi country does have one of the most massive land areas of any of the countries," he thought aloud. "Some of their mountains have never been mapped…And that east mountain, the man has control of the small strip of land east of the great divide between tsuchi and taki—I don't know," he said with a distant gaze in his eyes, "That always seemed a bit of a small shadowland, of sorts, to me. I just got the feeling there's something behind him we don't know…you know?"

Sakumo smiled, "Is it possible to know anything?"

They both knew, full well, it was not.

Hizuren grinned.

Come January, the waterfall village, denied by Kusa, discreetly asked the leaf village (their former villain in the past of course) for aid against a coming assault of rock ninja along their western border, called the great divide, as it was the wonderful, impressive, and massive fault in the earth, and as one of the last big (and un-reported) acts of his leadership, Nidaime hokage sanctioned two teams to assist and engage. And as this was localized, it remained so. The iwa ninja were mercenaries hired by the tsuchi lord, and the iwa nin of all of tsuchi had no gain in the outcome of the lord's extremities and fanatics, and did not consider waterfall (whom they never considered), nor Konohagakure's actions, imposed. As far as they were concerned, they too imagined the broken strip of land irrelevant and lost, in a wide gorge of shadow and river.

And the private mission issued was clear: defeat the ninja the lord assigned, and help protect the people of Takamatsu.

Captain Oikawa began drawing up names, and strategy, in accordance with a taki man, a chuunin. And thanks to Hizuren's inquiry, Sakumo was one of those names. "Keep your eyes open," Sarutobi said, "I'm sure Oikawa will brief you all, but I heard something by a man of that town."

"You know someone in town?" Sakumo interrupted.

Hizuren smiled. "The man the daimyo wants for dead—And I'm not entirely sure what to make of it, but he wrote me he heard from a friend, a building was constructed on the mountain there, near the old valley, and the old water line. Said nothing's been there in ages, it was odd to see it."

"Was it…a tsuchi station? A lookout? An arms store?" Sakumo morbidly progressed.

Hizuren shrugged on all three. "Like I said, you be careful, something up there's not right," Sakumo nodded, and Hizuren looked on at his students, just coming back from inside the forest—"Did you tell him you're going to be leaving?"

Sakumo shook his head. "I'm about to."

"Well, good luck, and do take care."

"Thank you Hizuren-san."

**.**

"Jiraiya, I want to talk to you," Sakumo opened, while walking his nine year old brother home.

The boy looked up at his nineteen year old bother, "About what?"

"I've been accepted for an important mission, and I may not be back for a little while," _Or at all, _he thought to himself. There was always the chance…this time, more so.

Jiraiya's mouth dropped open, "…Oh."

Sakumo openly smiled on him. "I promise I'll try not to take to long. I just wanted you to know. I'll be fighting," he disclosed.

"…Oh…" Jiraiya said again. "…When do you leave?"

"Kinyoubi."

Jiraiya checked his mental calendar: today was Tuesday. "…Friday?"

Sakumo nodded.

"Mm…Well…Ok—but you better come back after a week, ok?"

Sakumo laughed, "Sure."

"Where are you going?"

Sakumo could not really reveal any of the particulars for obvious reason. Hizuren, Nidai, and the men on the lists were really, the only ones with intimate knowledge of the situation. "…To the north," Sakumo said simply. "That's all I'll say, and don't tell anybody else. It's a d.t.a. law," he smiled.

Jiraiya grinned, "Don't tell anyone—got it. I promise. But only for a week, ok?"

Sakumo nodded.

**.**

"…North?"

Sakumo said yes.

"Are you…You're not…Is it…taki?" she lowered her voice.

Sakumo nodded slowly.

"Oh my gosh—" she realized, "Oh Sakumo—be careful up there."

Sakumo smiled, "I will."

A premonition slowly descended over her that night, running through the situation in her mind after the teen left. She was aware. She liked being aware of everything she could, being slightly trapped and mad inside the uneventful halls of the hospital all day. Occasionally, a few of the men would offer up some casual information. She hazarded a guess what they would do, and certainly what something like that involved, and she was genuinely surprised Sakumo was going. She felt no real worry coming from him, which worried _her_, greatly. She worried so often for him, it was in her nature.

Sakumo was nineteen now, about a month away from turning twenty, and her own handsome son, nine years old. The two occupied her thoughts daily, and both, ten years apart, demanded two different types of preoccupation: Sakumo was on the real cusp of manhood, whenever she saw him, she saw his father in him. Sometimes she felt like bursting into tears over his slow but steady wanderings down his road, and it was then she saw a great deal of his father in him. She'd seen it when over a year ago, he was questioning everything as solitude had swallowed him up, or attempted to. Her Jiraiya was finding out there were a different mix of paths in life, and he longed to follow his brother's, though she thought Sakumo was still securing his road, in his yellow wood. Her Jiraiya also reminded her of Coushander. She told her young boy he was handsome, and he oughtn't worry yet about his future. He had all the time in the world, with the cursed youthful impatience of wanting it then and there. Kano thought though, the two boys shared that in some small way; Sakumo was impatient to find his legs and his worth, with an eager desire to see it happen, and maybe, she guessed, that was why he accepted this mission. She hoped he would not see much. She prayed. Whenever Keiko thought of an eastern border, no matter what the piece of land was, she thought of Kiri.

**.**


	31. To the North

[Quick author note: You may wonder; and yes, it'll happen. Sakumo's final transformations into who he is (or who he becomes) comes in this one, and the next chapter. Both of which are a little gritty. But, he'll have some help from a few other old friends.]

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 31  
_**To the North (A Landslide)**_

**.**

**.**

Whatever the foreboding air vicing the great divide, it was lessened as a slack of mizzen sail with the first meeting of captain Oikawa, Tetsuya.

He was a tall man, standing six foot, with a sort of reserved stare, rooted in a strong quietude that showed clearly he'd served long under Nidaime hokage. His lively dark eyes twinkled at the fact now and then, giving a last reminder he was only thirty-seven years old, as his worn, tanned face betrayed him. He looked as if he should be a serious man, but his smile was frequent, and his manner exuded the utmost strength, experience, and confidence. The qualities were necessary in a captain as he, and Tetsuya embodied them well; his green vest held two small silver medals Sakumo recognized: the left was from a battle almost seven years ago—it was near rain, where Sakumo had gone with Dalzen when he was needed for an interrogation. Oikawa had led the fight there, and all men survived. The small circle on the right Sakumo knew as well; it was from a Kumo skirmish two years ago. Oikawa again showed resourcefulness, and kept the situation from escalating. All of his men there, too, survived. But Oikawa disavowed any notion he was a diplomat, even though in the past, that small patience had proved his value over a varied mix of situations. He was both quick and versatile; the sort of quality genin relied upon, chuunin held fast to, and jounin appreciated. He was well-liked in his own right, but never seemed to enjoy the limelight he stirred; Tetsuya reminded the nineteen year old of Dalzen, just by that of his commanding presence.

The two teams left the third of January.

The nearly twenty-year old was surrounded by a various mix of men in their late twenties; Sakumo, Hyuuga Naoya, and Murase Shin being the exceptions. Though Shin, Sakumo had known through several previous missions, the most memorable one where Sakumo ran back to Konohagakure upon Teal's short message. Shin was twenty-four, Naoya nearly twenty-two, leaving Sakumo the youngest of the group.

The oldest was Tetsuya, and from there in the team were the other four: an Uchiha, thirty-one years old, a Uchiha Nishio, with typical dark coal hair and crimson eyes (who was plainly loyal to Konohagakure as far as Sakumo could tell), a Senda Keiichi, in his late twenties, whom reminded Sakumo of a man similar in appearance to his former teammate Seichi, but excessively more congenial; a fair-haired Mitarashi Yuuto—who was the younger brother of a more prominent Mitarashi, and lastly, a striking red-headed man who unabashedly jestered with Oikawa several times, leading Sakumo to believe he knew the captain very well, and served with him previously on several occasions; the red-head's name was Miyoshi Koji, thirty years old, who possessed bird summons, similar to Masago, of the sand.

The two teams were structured in a slightly different way than usual: practical Naoya (Lord save him, Sakumo thought) was paired with the boisterous but gentile Miyoshi, and the rest of the six would engage the iwa mercenaries. Oikawa was expressively determined to know the rogue ninja Kakuzu's position, and also of the 'foreboding' feeling beyond the front line; hence Naoya with his pearl Hyuuga eyes was the perfect choice for reconnaissance. Tetsuya wondered if Kakuzu had roused other waterfall ninja to the same betrayal he procured, in pursuit of wealth, among other things; and namely, jutsu. Kakuzu was forty-seven years old, and considered one of the most dangerous rogue ninja in existence. He'd kept quiet, until recently, with the iwa daimyo. That was enough to cause concern. Kakuzu's original imprisonment within the taki village had been for the failed attempt on hokage Shodaime's life. The ninja had an extensive history—not so much now with twenty years missing on the files.

But the remaining six were also divided; the Uchiha man and Senda Keiichi (two of the strongest of the group, besides Tetsuya and Koji) would be taking the south side on the great mountain with the small band of taki nin, while Sakumo, Shin, Yuuto, and their captain would come in from the north in hopes of a box formation; all of which requiring the group to split early with the most uneasy task being the trek north.

Just one of the waterfalls that cascaded down in the secluded green country dropped off from a very high and green plateau on the west side, and the opalescent white foamed water plunged into what was called the great divide: a canyon, of sorts, and opposite that plateau of land on the other side was a massive, and steep mountain, the rugged line of which over the rift and the river lined the country that was tsuchi, and the east side of the river marked the 'forbidden waterfall', or so it was called in old. Beyond that, taki was a literal cove of high and low land, with waterways from the north sea, and rivers, providing numerous waterfalls inland. The great divide, though, was always something of a no-man's land, especially now, with the mine nestled in that plateau on the east, and the daimyo's mountain-line strip of land, to the west on the other side. The daimyo's province stretched a great deal of that mountain line. Takamatsu, the town, lay on the southern side of the mine. And the best of taki knowledge, they knew a band of mercenaries were to be coming east, and the best goal was to stop them on the daimyo's own land, before they reached the great divide. There were two ways of crossing: near the point of the waterfall, where the land was only slightly rifted, and south, north of Kusa, where the land dipped down as the river continued it's flow south. Nishio and Keiichi took the north pass with the waterfall ninja, and the rest of the team took the southern pass.

The journey up though, arduous and mixed, had taken a day and an evening. The area was prone to landslides, and many a silent tombs were strewn across that land from wars in the distant past. But the progression resumed on the fifth of January, where they were told the men would be. After half a day's trek along the mountain line, the four went north-west of the mountains of the divide, and then due west, into the evening.

The land on the mountain was flat, save a gentle valley they crossed over two miles back, holding the old waterway now unused. It'd been a series of tunnels, bringing in water from a lake and river, immediately north, just south of the northern sea. The channels of water were enclosed in tunnels and drainage ditches, once irrigation lines for farmers, but because of the wars in the past, no such nojojin ever returned. And those that did, turned themselves into a different profession: the group saw cattle and sheep in the distance, roaming the valley in very close herds. Thus, the series of channels now, lay waste. As Oikawa offered, there were many promises to rebuild that area, but no politician had ever delivered (since when do they?).

Their captain was determined to wait as long as possible for a report from Koji, so the four rested there, just west of the dip of green grass land.

But a slow hour passed until their only faint chakra-sensor felt the Uchiha's chakra rise just north of their position; the feeling was so obvious and potent, Sakumo sensed it even from there, miles away. Next to the Senju in Konoha, only the Uchiha and the Hyuuga clans could rise their chakra that huge; it was immense, and impressive. Sakumo felt a hot prick of anticipation after he informed Oikawa. The fighting had started.

With no birds in the sky, the four ran east, north east, with Oikawa expressing extreme caution to save their chakra, in case of more ninja that might come for the fight. The notion was unlikely, but Tetsuya thought it mentionable, considering his unease.

They came in with the box formation. Shin and Sakumo paired, taking the south side, and Oikawa took the north with Mitarashi.

There were at least twenty iwa ninja. The mercenaries were armed with kunai, shuriken, and an extensive and thorough skill of earth jutsu, and a few of them highly skilled in taijutsu. Shin and Sakumo were immediately engaged by two iwa nin, and the ground was as much of a weapon as the ninja. Sakumo relied on his speed, mainly; they were outnumbered by at least one team, but with Nishio and Oikawa, the numbers quickly looked favorable, and the battle tide turned, and curved back around in the waterfall's favor, like the quick curve of a sickle—the band of mercenaries were soon put out and tied, and the waterfall prepared for prisoners. But just as the last man fell unconscious by Keiichi's blade, Sakumo sensed a chakra presences stronger than Nishio; it was new, and Sakumo never remembered feeling such an ice-blue presence. Doggedly, he ran immediately to Oikawa, with a hundred percent certainty it did not belong to either Naoya or Koji, and it was coming from the south-west side. "Do you think it could be Kakuzu?"

Sakumo wouldn't know. "It's possible."

That was enough for Oikawa. He ran to the taki nin, telling them to leave the rock ninja, and he told Nishio to be ready. "Be alert!" he said to them all. "This isn't the last of it!"

Less than thirty seconds after this statement, after a quiet so haunting and dim, Sakumo sensed a mix of new chakra presences; four of which spilt off in a box formation; "Four of them, in a square!" He wasn't sure if anyone had heard him—Shin glanced at Sakumo, and the two sprang for the southeast corner. But the adumbral four presences that had fanned out behind brown walls, were not people at all—it was a gas bomb—and all four went off simultaneously. "…Shin!" Sakumo landed and felt his comrade's chakra somewhere on the other side. Sakumo ran back into the dark cloud, and saw the shadows finally personified: a new four man team of iwa nin, with masks, engaging taki and his team—Sakumo sensed the lone icy presence again, somewhere in the Uchiha's direction; there was a fireball that ignited, and Sakumo caught a small glimpse of the renegade Kakuzu, of which the icy feeling belonged to. None of their ninja was a wind type—Sakumo checked Shin in the thicket fog, but the young man was already unconscious, having caught the brunt of the blast. Sakumo winced and pulled out two blades, and went back into the grey fog on the north—the jounin were unlike the other mercenaries, and in addition to the gas, the two cells of taki nin were out, all but two, as were Mitarashi and Shin, and Sakumo saw Keiichi faltering.

That iwa ninja noticed Sakumo and advanced on him, discouraging a plan to team up with Oikawa. The ninja was an aggressive taijutsu fighter, forcing Sakumo to keep in the fog with other four, but the teen charged chakra to his kunai, and drove it against the man with a brilliant white flash of light—Sakumo was desperate. That dire let loose a shaky rush of adrenaline in him he'd never known before. That light in him burned stronger, without explanation or reason; it rose in him like a fever, and vented static, cutting the man's advance effectively.

The ninja then erected an earth wall, and without thinking, Sakumo was able to break through it with flesh activation, only to find another one of the jounin behind him. He cursed at himself for being hot-headed, and Sakumo fought with the white blades on the two jounin—he didn't know from which direction the other had come from, but he noticed the battlefield was growing dimmer still—though the gas was dissipating, he figured his own eyesight was the cause for heavy and blurred shadows.

Sakumo fought the two, but his limbs soon grew excessively heavy: he did not have much time left. He caught notice of Nishio, the only shadow he could see, with the waterfall traitor, Kakuzu; the Uchiha's fireball was the only light he saw, and even that, seemed dim like a small candle flame in the grey. Every part of him was slowing to the poison in the air—Sakumo did not last seven minutes more.

**.**

"Aw come on, please?" Jiraiya begged. "Is he there already, you think? Is he at Kumo, or Taki?" The nine year old pouted in specifics as to his nineteen year old brother. "Which one?"

She smiled at him softly in the evening hour, as she looked up from a small chart. "How about you write to him," she suggested. "Tell him you miss him."

Jiraiya brightened, "Yeah I could do that!" he proclaimed, taking the idea as his own. He shuffled off to the drawer to fetch a sheet of paper, and a yellow lead pencil. He collapsed both objects and himself on the floor of the den, and looked up at her and asked, "Um…how do I start."

His mother laughed. "Tell him…what you're doing, that you miss him, and…"

"Could I tell him about my application for hokage?"

She grinned, "You little monkey."

Jiraiya smiled, and he began scribbling, _'dear Saku-mono'_…:

**.**

When Sakumo woke up, he felt like vomiting.

He caught his breath, and before he looked around, he knew in an instant his chakra was being manipulated: he was waking up inside a genjutsu. A fairly strong one. So he looked around first, and realized he was in the valley basin, the same one their team had crossed. He looked down both sides, and saw a member of his team, Shin, lying some ways away. Sakumo gathered himself for another nauseous moment, and broke the genjutsu, and subsequently, a fist came down across his covered cheek, and he feel on a flat grey concrete floor. He head voices rumble above him, but he could not discern their words: he could not move a muscle in his arms or legs—but fortunately, someone else did a few seconds later, and the man took him by the collar and raised him and spat in Sakumo's face; "How the hell did you do that?"

Sakumo's eyes focused very slowly; the man was brown-haired with a tough beard on his chin. Several purple-red scabs were on his own cheek and knuckles, as if they were burn marks of some kind. His eyes were intense and black, and his chakra presence seemed vaguely familiar, as if he'd been one of the ninja from the battle; Sakumo blinked them into focus as the man shook him again, pushing Sakumo's shoulders against the wall; "How the hell did you break that?! Answer me!" he demanded.

Sakumo could not find the breath to do so, had he even wanted to. The breath in him felt violet and constricting, and his legs would not move.

The irascible man released the boy's collar in a furious haste and stood back up. Sakumo's hands were too late to catch him. He heard two men talking, and then he heard the bearded one say, "I'm gonna get Doramin." To which a slightly higher voice inquired, "Him?"

"Yeah him, he was in two days ago with the taki fellow."

Sakumo heard a door shut: the two were gone.

The air felt hot as he laid there. After a while, Sakumo slowly picked himself up with unsteady arms. The battle and gas came back to him in brief shadowy images, but as Sakumo finally looked around the room, he realized he was not alone: seven other men were with him, none of them conscious. There was fair-haired Mitarashi, Keiichi, Nishio, Oikawa, two waterfall men, and Shin, on Sakumo's immediate left. "…Shin," he recognized. Sakumo forced his thigh to move, "…Shin!" He moved around, and he gently shook his teammate, and he saw Shin's eyelid's flutter. "Shin!" Seeing he was alive, Sakumo looked to Yuuto, on his right. After the man would not respond, Sakumo checked his pulse; Sakumo's heart dropped deep within his chest like a stone—the Konoha man was dead. Sakumo swallowed and tried Keiichi in failure—Sakumo checked the pulse in the older man's wrist and neck, but there was nothing. Sakumo grew frantic; the Uchiha would not respond, nor Oikawa. They too were dead. The taki ninja were both stiff, in death and Sakumo felt his very soul tremor and his body shake crookedly, and he slowly crawled back to Shin, whom he passed on those vibrations as he gently shook his arm, begging his friend to stay with him. Sakumo looked back the men, and shuddered violent, "…Captain," his vacillated breath muted to a shocked whisper, "Captain," he said, as if wanting an order, "Captain…!"

Sakumo opened his eyes and noticed a shadow in the bottom crack of the door, just beside Tetsuya and a taki nin—the door opened, and there stood a tall man, with dark features Sakumo could not discern. But the man was strong enough and broad-shouldered, as he approached, and took Sakumo by his collar and lifted him up as if he were a kitten. Sakumo struggled against him slowly, to find the floor, and the men pushed him out the door, helping his search as Sakumo fell against the wall of the immediate, narrow hallway. He was picked up again, and Sakumo blinked and saw a door nearly opposite the one he just exited. He was ushered in and thrown again into the small, confined room, almost four feet by nine feet, with one small, lightless window high on the back wall. Sakumo slinked on the floor against the grey wall, and the man called Doramin closed the floor: it was very plain to Sakumo the next four seconds, the man was initiating a high-level genjutsu, just with his eyes, using no trigger object. Sakumo had seen the man's right hand move into a sign he could not make out. The young man blinked again, and cancelled the jutsu. The tall, dark man issued one again, and Sakumo again recognized it immediately, and negated it.

"What…in the…"

As the silence ensued after his utterance, Sakumo became aware his heart pounding beneath his chest, and his mind slowly began to try and thread itself rationally. His right and left hand curled behind him, as if to prostrate in fear, but he felt the back of his waist band, and there was a bump; they had not found his white jackknife. Sakumo moved his hands then close to his side, his palms reposing on the cold concrete floor. Sakumo stared at the man, who wore no visible headband to name his association. The man looked more scrutinizing, and he knelt; his black eyes poured with chakra, and Sakumo felt a cold genjutsu envelope the air. And the way Dalzen had taught him, Sakumo negated it perfectly, shifting his chakra, which was already coiling inside him uneasily in fear, responding to the shock and panic he was in.

Doramin blinked. "You crazy son of a…" He tried again.

Sakumo briefly considered letting it affect him, but he worried if he did, he might really get too lost in it to climb his way back out—Sakumo canceled it, changing his chakra again.

"You little—!" Doramin unexpectedly hit the boy in the face; "How the hell did you do that, hm? You little…" The man stood and seemed to collect himself.

Sakumo could hear the blood pound in his ears. He looked back up and watched the man; he sensed the man's chakra was great, but only in his head. Suddenly, Doramin turned, and a powerful diagonal of chakra stared down from his black eyes down to Sakumo's, and he was caught in a brief, horrid instant, caught in a mixture of landslide…Sakumo shook out of it, literally, and physically disrupted his chakra, so much so, he caught his breath and his stomach, lest they lurched out of him in an equally horrid display—Doramin was truly shocked. "Who the hell are you?"

Breathing quickly, Sakumo gave no answer.

Doramin knelt again before him and held the boy by his collar, as if he should better shake out an answer, "Who the hell are you? Who trained you?"

Sakumo felt a sudden panic rise in him—Doramin asked him again, "Who trained you." Sakumo turned his gaze away, and anticipated what the dark man would do next—Sakumo felt a sharp rise of chakra as the man placed his other heavy hand on Sakumo's head; the chakra burned warm in the man's hand and Sakumo shut his eyes, raising that chakra wall in his mind, just as Dalzen once taught him so well to do; _don't let him get in. Don't do it; get out, go away, don't do it…_

Doramin pushed harder, and Sakumo enforced the wall thicker, drawing every last sinew of chakra he had to his mind. Let go, let go. Doramin's hand, physically, pushed harder, and Sakumo sank, locked in battling the man's chakra from seeping in—his whole body becoming stiff as he kept the man out.

"Let go," Doramin said quietly.

_No!_ Sakumo screamed inside his mind.

"Let go. Let it go."

Sakumo's inward screams deafened him—it was only way he could keep the barrier against such pressure.

"Let. Go," he said forcibly.

Sakumo felt himself slip, like a small fracture in a wall of ice. _No_, he screamed again, with every synapse. He could hear the man repeating his line; Sakumo continued his chakra, his eyes plastered shut.

Doramin continued his assault with some confident knowledge the boy would break, but after almost another minute, he was so deep in trying to find a way to enter in, that he failed to notice his own chakra was becoming increasingly tight. His body grew painfully stiff very quickly, and he soon realized it was the boy's own chakra doing it to him.

He could feel it.

And it was white static.

Doramin slowly withdrew, not for the boy's sake, but his own, lest he should become permanently paralyzed. Inch by inch, he let his chakra secede to release his body from the painful bind. Finally, he removed his hand, and stood and staggered back stiffly, feeling a hot singe on his palm, hand, and head.

Sakumo slumped to his right and breathed furiously, his breath groaning low in mental anguish. His head fell gently on the cold grey floor, and he felt some small relief for an instant across his cheek, as his body sweat and ached.

Doramin looked upon the kid while he cradled his stinging wrist. After a moment, the man slowly turned and left the room, needing air. And after what seemed like half an hour, Sakumo was able to control his breath and begin stringing what was left of his body and his thoughts. His eyes slowly registered an empty grey room, longer, than it was wide. At first, he did not recall being in another room, until he looked up above him at the window, and had an intense feeling of déjà vu, as he remembered seeing it another way. The window was not lit, and Sakumo thought slowly: it was dark, whether out there or in the room, or both, he knew it was dark; it was night. And the dark reminded him of the man who tried to suck all the life out of him. Sakumo felt as if he had little inside him now.

The more he collected his thoughts into one, semi-cohesive place, the more Sakumo felt the desire to panic. Their battle—had succeeded—and then failed. Shin—Sakumo felt a strong desire to save Shin, and then, to escape.

Escape.

That was the real, first legitimate and logical thought he had, in a accordance to all his shinobi training. The first obligation of any prisoner was indeed to escape. Sakumo felt again with a cold clammy hand his jackknife was still there. It would have to do, if he could really stand to use it.

He sat there and stayed awake, and increasingly stayed aware, wondering if Shin was still alive, and if the others, were really dead. Sakumo shuddered in a deep empty hole of shock. He felt the air become colder around him, almost un-breathable, and the grey floor and angled walls, he felt, were damp. After a while, he rose up a ways, and then stood on his own, rubbing the backs of his hands to get them warm. He turned around, and saw the window, above his head. It was fogged. Sakumo tugged the cuff of his indigo sleeve over his wrist and wiped it across the small pane. He saw nothing but the same dark shade of blue on the other side.

He waited there for a while more, slowly running through a way out in his numb mind—Shin had to be alive—Sakumo watched the crack of light under the door with a flutter of paranoia, while trying to calm his nerves, to no avail. Dalzen had told him repeatedly the importance of keeping calm. And yet the eye was someplace else; Sakumo could only help but feel the sheer wind of panic. Finally, he closed his eyes for a small moment in the room, and he tried again. It might be important to try and focus his chakra to sense his surroundings. Sakumo instantly sensed a presence right outside the door, on the right, that was stationary; presumably a sentinel, but nothing else beyond that. _Shin,_ he thought suddenly. Sakumo slowly paced a few short steps in anticipation and anxiety. He thought about the jackknife.

His chakra level wasn't significant, in fact, he could barely feel the shred left in him after the defense he put up earlier. He knew he would have to injure that…interrogator, he thought slowly, take his identity in the form of simple transformation, and then spring out Shin…the window was small but it did lead outside. The wall itself could not be thick for all the cold he felt seeping in around the gray window frame, a strong taijutsu would break it easily, though Sakumo doubted he had the strength to accomplish it alone, but yet it seemed his only option, so he consecrated himself to it. He felt he could put a genjutsu spell on Doramin's body, which would buy him time…Sakumo drew breath and continued waiting.

After what seemed like the most uncomfortable hour of his life, Sakumo stepped back as he sensed a dark hole coming down the narrow hall: a shadow appeared under the yellow line, and the door opened, showing Doramin in new light. The dark man shut the door, and the room was bluer yet again. Sakumo looked at the man's features, and remembered the voices, "Hatake Sakumo, and you served under the Morino-fellow. I suppose it figures," he seemed to smile, "But I never expected you to be as good as he was."

Sakumo straight away felt too nervous to begin some inconsequential string of lies; he kept silent.

And Doramin smiled. "I have never had a subject like you—most men can't even perform a simple bloc, it's disgusting—and yet here you stand, a simple young man, with the ability to see though the most…intense genjutsu, or scan. That kind of bloc is sheer will-power, I know it," he pointed briefly to his own brown head, "I've had it done to me before. But you—that Morino-fellow taught you quite well," he concluded, eyeing the leaf shinobi. "And I heard he died recently, what a shame—"

"Shut up," Sakumo burst for no reason. His own anger surprised him. Doramin took some refuge in it with another small, slightly constrained smile, "Ah," he said, seeming impressed, "Now there's a jolly good rise out of you."

Sakumo bit his tongue, for fear that he lost his temper, and continued waiting.

"I guess it was true then," Doramin continued, looking at him. "It must have affected you very much. Careful. Anger like that is one way I can get in. But I suppose you know that, too, don't you? Morino must have taught you a good many things. I know I tried keeping up in the past. But I wonder, how good you are now that you've had a chance to wallow within these walls," Doramin released a medium-level genjutsu—Sakumo had seen one of his hands move—the leaf shinobi recognized it within the second, and negated it.

Doramin released a stronger chakra—Sakumo again blocked it.

The man took a breath, and there Sakumo knew: the leaf shinobi flinched back as if he were more nervous than he appeared, recoiling his hands, and silently he withdrew his knife and flipped the blade behind his back; Doramin released a high-level illusion, and Sakumo changed his chakra simultaneously—he moved in that instant with all the speed possible to deliver that blade to the man's chest, anxious then for him to fall without a sound: Sakumo sent a controlled amount of rai chakra through it, and the man's body fell with a thud, paralyzed. Sakumo tried ignoring the pulse, pounding horribly loud in his heart and ears—he moved the man without struggle to the side wall; the man was heavy. He applied chakra to the man's form, and changed Doramin's appearance to his own. Sakumo then transformed into the tall man with a flutter of uneasy adrenaline. He put the knife in the pocket of the brown-grey clothes. Sakumo forced himself to play the part, in Doramin's calm, and capable exterior. He opened the door, and there was the guard, who smiled dumbly, "Done already Doramin?"

Sakumo paused and thought, and he cleared his throat, "No…I want to get the other one. He's being stubborn."

The guard only nodded.

Sakumo saw the door on the left, and knew that was the one. He walked in and closed it…and as he was alone, his face underneath screwed in a terrible shot of pain—Sakumo could smell the darkness and death in that room as if he'd walked into a terrible fog. Sakumo stood for a moment longer, and then broke the jutsu as his eyes shut in the shock—he blinked, and then remembered Shin, his teammate. Sakumo trotted to him on the far left side and shook him gently, whispering, "Hey, hey, come on—Shin, please," Sakumo checked the pulse in the young man's neck, and found it faintly. He looked back around at the men and nearly lost himself to a sudden twist of nausea. Slowly, he came over to Tetsuya Oikawa, and whispered, "…Captain?" Shakily, Sakumo checked for the man's pulse; but there was none.

Sakumo nearly choked on a caught sob.

A pure adrenaline crept up to remind him again of Shin, and the frantic urgency to break out. Sakumo went back and moved Shin, but Sakumo stopped as he looked again at the men. They could not stay here.

Sakumo bit his thumb and closed his eyes, and re-focused his chakra. He summoned the red hunter _inu_, and whispered for a reverse summoning.

They could not remain there, for any reason.

The dog nodded after a moment and he summoned a small grey scroll, and the two both drew a good deal of chakra to it, and the six men disappeared in a thin veil of smoke. The hunter and scroll vanished as well, leaving Sakumo and Shin in the dark thicket. Sakumo changed back into Doramin, and held Shin up carefully, who was mostly unaware, drifting in and out of consciousness. But Sakumo remembered, just as he reached the door, he'd been dragged out by the scruff of his collar—he mentally apologized, and took Shin out the same way.

"…Give you some trouble?" the guard asked curiously.

Sakumo tried to suppress his surprise at the guard's voice. "…Hm?" he responded as coolly as he could, picking Shin up by the collar. "Just a little," Sakumo said distantly. The guard accepted the behavior. Sakumo opened the door of the smaller room and felt uncomfortable seeing himself, and heaving Shin in, again.

"…Good luck," the guard spoke again. "Try not to be too morbid. You are civil, Doramin," he reminded the man.

Sakumo gave a noncommittal noise, which too, the guard seemed to accept.

The leaf shinobi shut the door, and waited a few moments before he dropped the façade. He saw Shin was slowly coming-to. Sakumo ended the jutsu, and knelt down to Shin's level with a finger up over his mask, in a 'don't say a word' look. Shin blinked a few times, and seemed to register it. Sakumo took Doramin (who still kept Sakumo's form) and Sakumo moved (effectively, himself) against the door, and decided to put the next wave of chakra on him: a linger genjutsu, on the object that was Doramin. Commonly seals served as such trigger objects, but Dalzen had taught him people themselves could serve as linger illusions in addition to objects or paper. Sakumo took a good amount of chakra to it for the failsafe and backed off weakly, and looked down at Shin, who was trying to sit up. Sakumo helped him and looked at the grey wall and swallowed. He put the jackknife securely in his pocket, in case it all went horribly wrong, which he was sure it would do. He nodded at the wall, and Shin understood him. Sakumo felt a brief moment of hope Shin still had a reserve of energy left in him, and that he understood the makeshift plan. Sakumo drew a quick breath and charged chakra in his right hand, Shin beside him did the same—they stood together and Sakumo counted down quietly, from three.

Their hands collided at the wall, and it broke apart—Sakumo took a firm grip on Shin's shoulder, leading him out, telling him not to look back: they had to run now, and Sakumo prayed the illusion-genjutsu would buy them at least one minute.

Sakumo did not know their location: the world was concealed in darkness. Sakumo and Shin ran right, hoping on instinct they could find the valley and flee to taki side. Shin turned to look, but Sakumo held on to his arm, "Don't," he said again, wishing he could look.

The illusion bought them their minute. And only that. The sound, one minute later, brought a few shinobi on their trail as the two ran. "Sakumo—"

"Shin, don't stop—"

Sakumo however, flinched as he felt a short shuriken pierced his back—Sakumo stopped and removed it, and flung it back at the pursuers, there were three of them. "Shin, go on—"

"No way,_ tomodachi_," Shin breathed beside him.

"You idiot, get!"

Shin instead knelt, and with force, produced an earth wall to stop oncoming shuriken.

"Shin!" Sakumo groaned at him.

But Shin actually seemed to be smiling, "…We fight them, come on."

_"You…"_ Sakumo breathed. Reluctantly, Sakumo drew the folding knife from his pocket and flipped open the blade. Shin quickly saw it and his tired smile broadened. Shin and Sakumo retreated back, immediately, as the three ninja went around the black, two on Sakumo on the left side, and one on the right, advancing toward Shin.

Sakumo fought, literally, with all he had. With his chakra severely waned by the reverse summoning and the breakout, Sakumo continued retreating guardedly until he was sure he had an acceptable opening. The bearded man seemed wildly intent on critically wounding him for payment on the re-match. Sakumo retreated again, and picked off a couple shuriken that had pierced the earth wall, and threw them, merely splitting the two. He quickly took one more and kept it with him. He quickly grew tired of his sluggish reactions, and he felt a hot anger rise in him he could not control; it was a frustrated, desperate, mad; a mad that was the only thing that seemed to move his feet and generate his chakra. And that chakra, inexplicably rose in him, and grew more furious, throwing static in the cool night, and he confused it with mere adrenaline, or the actual weather in the night—he couldn't see anyway. He threw the little black blade, believing it might clip the man's shoulder, and it did, but it seemed to sting the man more than Sakumo thought it would—Sakumo turned the knife on the other man, and oddly, the man jumped back, and Sakumo followed him.

Sakumo remembered finally injuring the man, but not much more than that.

**.**

He woke up, inside a tunnel. The old water tunnel, where a dirty water still streamed in the dip of it's circular cavern. Sakumo caught his breath uneasily, as if the air were choked like the small room of Lord knows where, smelling like decayed oyster or rain. He began coughing, and then he tried to suppress the nausea in his throat. "Easy, easy," he heard the voice say. Sakumo flinched back in a daze, and then blinked several times to see Shin right beside him, on his left. "It's all right," he said. "We've passed the valley—we're in the water channel—we're all right."

Sakumo became aware of a tight band of blue fabric around his left arm, and also his right leg. Sakumo cleared his throat and continued looking around at the concave, curved grey wall. It was lit by a distant light source. There were some small jagged cracks he could see dawn filter in through. He was leaning, slanted along the side, and the dirty water, no more than four foot across, flowed without any trace of speed or hindrance.

"Sakumo, can you sense anyone nearby?" Shin asked him quietly.

He registered the request and after a moment, closed his eyes to search. He felt nothing naturally, at first, because he couldn't feel his chakra. He tried a little harder, and shied briefly as his mind flinched at the push. So Sakumo steadied his breath and focused. Still—he felt nothing. But he was ready to disregard that analysis in favor of weakness. Sakumo shook his head, opening his eyes. He cleared his throat again, "How long?"

Shin thought, "About four, maybe five hours."

"Hours…?"

Days could have gone by.

"Yeah; we need to keep moving, though," Shin suddenly coughed hoarsely. "Come on."

The two traveled on through the eerie grey tunnel. At intervals, it was broken and split, and they had to cross over raw land, where it was a small patch of grassless beige rock strewn in the valley, as if it was an old path up the hill. The only light sifted in from those breaks in the channel, and through the cracks and dents—dawn was rising. After about a quarter of a mile, they came to a perpendicular turn, having the option of going straight, or right. The two tacitly chose right, in hopes it would lead further east, toward the light and mountain line over the great divide, toward taki side. The water itself was considerably dirtier than it had been in the main channel, and shallower, shrinking to only three feet across; it was brown and obstructed by a myriad of even browner and rusted objects; Sakumo thought he saw the iron of a small hoe. They kept balance delicately, and slowly, on the damp and thin grey walls, stopping frequently, not to dare touch the damn waste.

Shin was ahead of him, and not long into the tunnel, the shinobi stopped short abruptly. Sakumo looked up, but Shin had no trouble with his balance—he was looking on his right. Sakumo looked and faltered, instantly re-directing his gaze; there was a small heap of bones, recognizable neither as human or animal, there, along the other side of the small waterway. The two pushed themselves further, with the white heap haunting their minds—they went more than a quarter mile, but the cursed tunnel finally ended; and it ended with about eight yards of land left on the red mountain.

The dawn was stronger now, the light shone halfway up the mountain cliff, over the emerald green plateau below of the forbidden waterfall. The river was partially shadowed. The strong beam of sunlight cut the cliff and divide in half, the shadow-line slightly uneven along the rock, but a straight and long diagonal of beautiful dawn, nonetheless. And it moved silently and slowly, with the quiet of a thousand such dawns wafting up through the wide chasm of the earth, over the bright blue river. And perhaps, on the mountain top, was the only place where it could not yet penetrate until high noon, where it could reach the cold draft of an open window, and warm the sill. Sakumo shuddered in cold.

"…We have to get down there," Shin said quietly, his breath on the air.

Sakumo looked at him; their forms were shadowed yet with the mountain, far above the crossover line of dawn. "How—"

"We have to get to the taki station, and tell them…what's happened."

Sakumo's objection receded. The station looked so close, and yet, it was so far away, nestled in the green of the plateau. The two had come out near the giant waterfall, but that too, was far away, far enough where it's sound was inaudible. It was the rational thing to do, but the shinobi was not feeling so cool right now, and he wondered if Shin really believed the words he'd said. Sakumo moved his stiff knees and walked a little closer to the edge. He watched the green plateau glitter, as if in the gentle daze of a dream, or like a beautiful mirage, shown only through the prism of the Shiroi desert, just as Hideki foretold. He saw the chasms of rivers and lakes and trees and land…Sakumo decided it must be done, but couldn't convince himself why. Still, he went down with Shin, lest he should collapse in the pocket triangle of darkness in the basin with the river.

**.**

Jiraiya went into the missions' office early that morning. He trotted to the east wing, toward a room on the right side, "…Sarutobi-sensei?" he peered in.

Hizuren jumped a little at the small child's voice. "Oh—Jiraiya; what in the world are you doing here this early?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be on the roof?"

Jiraiya smiled, and waved his letter so his sensei could see, "I need this to go to someone—Who can I give it to?"

"Who is it to?"

Jiraiya held the letter in his hands and Sarutobi saw what was written neatly on the face, 'Sakumo.'

Hizuren leaned back and smiled. "Well, I believe I can pass it along to a messenger…"

Jiraiya began to smile—"For a fee," Hizuren finished. "Standard rate."

Jiraiya frowned. "…Oh," he said after a while in the silence.

Sarutobi suddenly laughed. "I'm just kidding you—yes yes, I can pass it along…"

The boy looked at his sensei most dubiously.

Sarutobi grinned.

**.**

The cliff above them was now engulfed in a rag of golden yellow light, and the sun climbed higher over the plateau, flooding the blue sky. "…Sakumo?"

He would not respond.

**.**

The warm sunshine faded from his memory as Sakumo found himself in a grey darkness.

Sakumo jumped up—his arm panged in a taut dose of pain—Sakumo looked around furiously in a panic of the room, about twelve by twelve, with grey walls, a picture frame, and two white twin beds; Sakumo untied himself from the IV in his arm, and got up, and backed into a wall dizzily, and he could not remember leaving the facility on the mountain. He panicked. His hands began to shake in tremors, and his right hand cupped his left arm, pushing up his blue sleeve—he sank to the floor against the back wall with his heart beating in fear. He drew up his knees against his chest, reacting to the sense of panic that held his form like his own chakra, wavering like water, reverberating without cause, and suspended cold in his body, shaking.

Some time later, he reacted to the opening of the door with equal force of shock—his heart pounded as he saw a man in a short white coat. "…Hello," he said gently, almost as surprised as Sakumo was.

Sakumo stood himself up on shaking knees, and he did not even hear the man; he stared through the open grey door: light shone in from the outside. Sakumo backed away to the right side as the man had barely taken a step forward: "Easy now," he said with a calm in his voice, "It's all right, you're safe now. Just calm down."

Sakumo kept moving slowly alone the wall—he watched the man in the coat, and then he ran for the door.

Something hit him in the stomach before he could make it out.

He was carried back in, and sat on the first bed, until Sakumo felt himself again, and tried breaking out of a man's grasp. Sakumo tried violently, hard as he could, but the door closed, and there were three men there to contain him. Sakumo shook and fought against the man who held him, and Sakumo finally twisted free, stumbling off the twin bed and onto the floor, between the two metal frames, more trapped than he had been a few minutes ago.

"Easy, please, it's all right," the taki doctor said again.

Sakumo withdrew himself in a sudden flood of fear.

The taki doctor sighed, "It'd just be quicker if you scanned him."

"No, he needs to acknowledge us," Yohei said resolutely.

The second ninja, the one who'd hit the boy seemed to take the doctor's stance, evident by his impatient folding and unfolding of his arms, "We can't wait another day. We need to know what happened to Tetsuya and the rest. Do it."

"Yes yes I know," Yohei said. "Just give me a minute."

"He won't talk," Eiji said discouragingly.

Yohei threw his companion a stern look before he knelt down in the space between the metal frames, "Sakumo, you must listen to the sound of my voice," he began, "Please listen. I am not an aggressor. I need you to know that, and you must open your eyes without fear and look around you; you are safe now." Yohei said calmly. "We are Konoha ninja, and the taki doctor has looked after you. Can you understand?"

Sakumo had peered out from behind his arms and knees, looking on with dark black eyes.

Yohei dropped his shoulders—"You must trust me, you are safe here. You and Shin are healing. But—"

"…Shin?" Sakumo whispered.

"Yes; Shin is well now, and you're nearly there yourself. I understand you're afraid, but there's no reason to be so; you're among friends now. Can you understand?"

Sakumo said nothing, sitting there stiffly.

"My name is Miyahara Yohei. Don't be afraid. But I need you to tell me exactly what happened, after the battle."

Slowly, Sakumo shook his head.

"Sakumo, I know you can do it—" The boy continued his stance on his position—Yohei frowned, "Please, Sakumo, you can do it."

"You do it kid, or Yohei scans you."

"Eiji," Yohei whispered harshly though gritted teeth; Sakumo was already in another panic. "Please, Sakumo, easy," Yohei tried to assuage, keeping perfectly still as the boy squirmed. "Easy, I'd rather have you tell me than read your mind."

Sakumo bit his lip and stopped flinching. The proposition was preferable, but Sakumo had difficulty finding his voice; he cleared his throat; "…The battle," he repeated.

"Yes," Yohei said quietly, pleased he spoke, "Please tell us what happened."

"…Gas," Sakumo said simply and blinked.

Yohei nodded smally, "Yes…Shin's still got a trace of it left in him."

The clouded haze came back to the forefront of Sakumo's mind. "…Ambush—We were…ambushed, by…" he corrected semi-coherently, "...Four? No, five—Kakuzu…was the fifth…Kakuzu fought Ni—"

Sakumo suddenly curled his body in abject pain from the memory of the six men, flashing starkly beyond the battle, before his eyes, without warning. Sakumo tried desperately to shut his eyes from it. The image was a black hole: he was sucked back into the darkness of that room, with the rancid smell and picture, of death.

"Ah hell, now look what you did."

"You idiot," Yohei looked up. "The boy is shell-shocked."

"Then I guess you better scan him then," Eiji remarked disparagingly.

"…I'd have to agree," the doctor said, "You won't get anything else from him now, I guarantee that. Not in that state."

"…Sakumo," Yohei said in vain, "Sakumo…please understand, I must do this," Yohei approached Sakumo, kneeling on the floor on his knees, and he set a hand on the boy's head, and slowly applied chakra.

Let it go…Sakumo felt Doramin's cold hand, and Sakumo screamed, raising the wall in his mind. "It's all right," Yohei assured, "It's all right, don't fight it, it's ok," But Sakumo continued fighting. _No!_ he screamed, _Let go!_

Eiji moved himself between the beds just as Yohei pulled back to save himself from the static. Eiji hit the boy again in his stomach, and Yohei in turn opened his eyes and saw the damage done: Sakumo was unconsciously silent. "…Eiji!" Yohei exclaimed.

The man moved back and folded his arms, "_Now_ you do it."

"Mitarashi, Eiji, that was uncalled for," Yohei scolded him. "I'm going to report this to the captain."

"Whatever."

**.**

Sakumo woke up again on the white bed in the grey room. A catheter was in his arm from an IV bag on a stand on his left. His heartbeat quickened, and he tried raising his head a little as he felt something else close to him, but he wasn't sure quite what. He blinked around, and then he saw a fair-haired man sitting on the end of the bed on his right. Sakumo panicked, but the man said nothing, and did not move. Sakumo blinked clearer, and saw the man, almost familiar. He looked to be in his fifties, fifty-five, and his skin was a little tanned, as if he'd gone to the Shiroi desert. But his face seemed a little young for his years, and that's when Sakumo finally recognized the quiet man sitting on his right. It was his former teammate's father, Ichida Takato.

**.**


	32. Shadow Line of the Great Divide

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 32  
_**Shadow-Line of the Great Divide**_

**.**

**.**

Sakumo flinched. He could move little.

"Hello," the older man said calmly.

Sakumo moved up on his elbows and looked on skeptically, unsure of how much time had passed since he remembered the three other men who surrounded him in the corner, right next to where he was at.

"Are you afraid of me?

Sakumo hesitated, but slowly, he shook his head.

Takato's smile was small. "I was in the area, and I heard what happened," he said unassumingly. Sakumo knew the man's quiet reserve well enough not to feel threatened. "We know now," he continued, "What you've gone through. And I'm very sorry."

Sakumo finished pulling himself upright a ways; listening to the man's voice. The nineteen year old did not find the same calm breath in his throat, looking again at the bare room. "It's a tragedy," Takato said simply, looking down. "I know. These things…will happen. I'm sorry. It's horrible," The words stirred in the young man a terrible sense of empathy. Takato looked at him; "Shell-shock isn't something easy to come over. I know your father struggled with it, and so did we, but all I can tell you is that it never really goes away, but it becomes easier to deal with, and to live with."

Sakumo's breathing increased—what Ichida was referring to cropped up slowly in his mind like wheat, turning brown, and then black; "…Oikawa!" he blurted suddenly.

"…Easy," Takato said, but Coushander's son was already lost.

.

"We need him to track Koji and Nao—"

"The boy is unstable, that's not possible."

"If you just let me see him—"

"Unacceptable. No point in—"

"Eiji, shut up," Yohei commanded of him.

"The boy has to bring them back!" the Mitarashi retorted.

"That will happen," Yohei said sternly, late that afternoon—January the ninth. "He will be able to—"

"He _has_ to." said Eiji, with nothing short of irritable, impatient sentiment, typical of himself.

"Yes, he will," Yohei turned back to Shin, "Unfortunately, we cannot send out anyone new on this—"

"What?! But—"

"Kid," Eiji answered hardly, under short, dark violet hair, "Sorry. But getting back the…men, is the most important thing to do, so they can be returned back to Konoha, to their families."

"But let me_ talk_ to Sakumo, I know him," Shin argued. "He's not the type to snap overnight, or—"

"Oh really?" Eiji laughed mirthlessly, "You try and hold up under what he saw. Yohei gave me a peek. You'd rather gouge your eyeballs out and use them between toast and—"

_"Eiji,"_ Yohei scolded the man's blatant vulgarity.

"What?!" he exclaimed, "What the _hell_ is so different now from Sakumo and the rest of us buzzards? Not a damn fine thing! Grant you, he saved them from God knows what, probably fucking Kakuzu. He'd have diced them up some way—Don't you look at me like that; Kakuzu was one of taki's 'finest' experimenters way back when, advancing the damn mortality jutsu, and I guess we all know where that led to. My brother—" Eiji caught himself uneasily, and he turned his face away. "I tell you, for all that, that boy's seen, he's now with me, with Hiromasa, with Nidai, and a boat load of other dammed souls on the barge of the shinobi dashed. May he cling to the blade now, and watch another cursed harvest fall, or go home, and marry some silly girl, and forget the whole thing ever happened!"

Eiji left them in a heated rage.

Yohei seemed to sigh, believing he'd come off it in a few hours—or days.

"…So?" Shin questioned.

But Yohei didn't say another word.

**.**

Sakumo raved in fury, in sweat, in cold, and in fear.

He responded to no one else that evening, as he locked himself away in the sordid memory, burning his mind's eye with it's ferocity of detail, and acrid smell, of death. It held him as a radio held his ears, hearing nothing but Doramin and his own thoughts, and as a moving picture that held his eyes, the same series of pictures replaying in his mind over and over again, with a relentless intensity. He begged to be released from the grey haze in the black night, watching the Uchiha's fire now and then, briefly glow, and then extinguish…

Then Sakumo would see the great divide on a quiet, clear dawn; with it's half and half shadows of light and dark, mixing in between, wondering, to which side he'd crossed over, or fell numbly, and soundlessly into. The cliff over the gap and river was so wide, he'd sooner stumble near the waterfall side, and slip into the moraine on the south…"Be careful," Tetsuya said. And what of the tunnel? Sakumo shuddered—the water was brown, with cracks and filters of it's own, holding an indiscernible heap of bones, the property of the concave wall itself, in turn, entombed, by the ground of the green valley…

"…Sakumo," Shin called the next morning, "Sakumo, it's me."

He blinked open his eyes and his eyelids widened as he recognized, "…Shin."

He smiled heartily, and said hello.

Sakumo looked around, and saw two other men, Ichida, and Yohei, the ninja he recognized from before. "Sakumo," Shin said. "We need you to do something for us. Will you walk with me?"

After a moment, Sakumo nodded.

Yohei had removed the IV funnel to his arm, and Sakumo was free to sit up unhindered. He swung his legs off the side gingerly and stood, and his teammate helped him slowly come out the door: they walked right into the outside. Sakumo blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light of the blue dawn.

An open mahogany trellis was over the compound of the medical station; the ceiling was threaded with beautiful green vines that were rooted on four square patches of sod between narrow walks of concrete that both stopped and started at the wooden beams in a large-stepping-stone fashion. There were no marks or blemishes on the smooth grey surface. The station was near a forest of trees beginning fifteen yards away, which extended north and south in the pane of view. Yohei led the four around, turning left, to the front of the building, on the north side; Sakumo saw a fountain, dropping water from a small concrete shell into a much larger shell, that served as the base. There was a circular sitting ledge that surrounded it, made of a beige-color brick, without any further ornamentation. There was a brown bench near a grove of trees beyond the water feature, and there was another wooden trellis on the north side, over the formal entrance of the building. He noticed under the open trellis was a group of ninja, standing together in the spotted shade. There were seven of them. Four from Konohagakure, and three from taki. Sakumo could see their headbands shining and he felt uneasy. The four stopped.

"Sakumo," Yohei began, "We need you to do something," he said slowly, so he was sure the young man understood. "We need you to call upon your summons so we can have our people back—Oikawa, and the rest."

Sakumo's mouth dropped open, for all of them to see. "…O-Oikawa-sama?"

"Yes Sakumo. We are returning them home now."

Sakumo looked down, completely void of thought, incomprehensibly staring down the ideal. Luckily, Shin provided him with the imagery he needed: Shin held out a kunai from his pocket. Sakumo saw it, and then, slowly, he took it; only then understanding what needed to be done. Sakumo held it loosely in his hand and distanced himself about six feet from the trio. He guided the blade and slit a small cut on the top of his palm. He knelt down and closed his eyes, picturing the red dog in his mind. The shinobi gathered his chakra, and with effort, pushed down a strong dose of it; _kuchiyose no jutsu._

The red dog appeared, and Sakumo looked up, and found he only had the strength to nod to him—the dog looked around, understanding him, and walked forward, and laid his left front paw on Sakumo's hand. Another large swell of chakra was spent, and this time, a large cloud appeared fourteen foot in front of him. The cloud faded, and there, the six men lay.

Sakumo turned his face away as the seven shinobi near the trellis headed for the men. And instead of returning, the red dog followed Sakumo closely, as his new master took several slow aimless steps away.

Takato came forward and met the boy, and held Sakumo's shoulders, "Well done," he said quietly.

Sakumo cried, but no tears came.

**.**

That night, Jiraiya stared at his mother's atlas, looking to the north, and up the land of cloud's peninsula. The top part was cut off, and blank. "Hey mom," he said, "Have you ever been to kumo no kuni?"

Keiko smiled at her little boy, who was sprawled out on the floor of the open den. She decided to sit next to him and she said, "No, I've never been there."

"It's all blank—aren't there any cities?"

"Just because it's blank, doesn't mean there aren't people living there."

"Well, someday, I'll see if there are any people up there," Jiraiya laid his index finger over the white void.

She smiled. "I think your father was around here," she said pointing to the inlet of sea between kumo's peninsula, and tsuchi's. It was the north sea, of off waterfall and another smaller country. "The great sea," she thought of Saru. "They were trying to get a boat off a sandbar."

"Really?"

She nodded.

Jiraiya looked down at taki, then tsuchi, and then back again. "Is that the great divide?" he pointed between the two countries.

"Yes, it is."

"Sakumo told me a story about it a little while ago, before he left," Jiraiya said.. "_Otoussan_ told it to him, and it was a legend about the first trip a man ever took down the divide. His name was _Wise Musuko_, and he started at the base of the waterfall in a canoe to see where the river ended."

"So, what happened?" she asked her boy curiously.

"He lived in his canoe, down the river, for a while. He caught fish and stuff to live, and then he came across a rapid, and he had to stay on the course—he finally came to this big lake," Jiraiya pointed to a small blue dot, just north of Kusa. "And there was a little island, where he stopped and met a _kumo onna_."

"…A spider woman?"

He looked up and nodded. "She was tiny, too, and she said there was another house on the island—he'd wanted something to take back to his village," Jiraiya remembered. "She gave him some magic dust, and they went together on the path to see the secret _Hebi_ clan. _Kumo onna_ rode on his shoulder, and there was a lion, and a bear—a cat, and a wolf, and the magic dust protected them. They got to the tent, and the _Hebi_ people greeted them with a special ritual, and a dance. The Snake dance. The Musuko took back a wife, and treasure, and the spider woman gave them a bag of jewels they couldn't open until they got back to the village. But they didn't listen, and they opened it. So they lost all their treasure. But they got back, and told everybody about their adventure, and showed them the dance of the _Hebi_ people."

"That's something," she said genuinely.

"Sakumo knows the weirdest things."

She smiled, thinking of Coushander and his boy. "You don't think it's true?"

"No, I do…It's just I don't remember otoussan telling me these things. Sakumo knows them from when he was little. I can't remember so much."

It was the eve of four years.

"Time goes by fast…" she murmured, mostly to herself. She looked down at their precious boy with a swell of emotion.

Jiraiya knew that look. He knew it for a long time. "Mmm…" he grumbled indifferently. He had a distinct feeling he was going to get called a 'little monkey'…Those looks of his mother's usually led to that…

**.**

Now that he knew where the door led, he snuck out in the evening as he felt semi-constructed in thought, and most importantly, because he felt he was finally alone. The night was cool and silent, seeping some level of fragile, and weak peace in him. The mahogany-red color dog had followed him without sound, or without explanation. Sakumo didn't ask; nor did he care. The shinobi walked around to the north side, and listened to the short waterfall of the fountain. The water tumbled out the shell and plunked upon itself like a miniature version of the great waterfall just north of that place, spilling out into the great divide, instead of a clear blue, circular basin. Sakumo noticed a single copper coin on the right hand side, for luck, perhaps. And he saw a few dim yellow lights in the building, and on the front, below the north trellis. There were a few brown moths flying about the lights and the vines, and Sakumo slowly moved on without direction. His legs moved himself to the brown bench, and it looked worn from a thousand rains. The beams were sound, but the face was beaten and creviced with dents and other such wear. Sakumo collapsed his form on the wide tree beside it, and he slid down and sat there on the cold ground, and briefly glanced up at a dark canopy of stars he did not recognize. Korado walked around to be on his left side, and the red dog laid near him, saying nothing.

Sakumo closed his eyes, listening to both the water and the silence, breathing in the cool air. He soon drew his knees up, and folded is arms across his blue pant leg, clasping his palms on both his elbows. His head lowered, and he drifted, letting lose an exhausted sigh from his cold face.

Man and dog were both undisturbed for a while, until Sakumo's head rose when he heard a door open and close, it was metal, and it hit the lock obviously, clicking closed. At first he could not tell who it was until he stepped out, under the yellow light, under the trellis; it was his past teammate's father. Sakumo felt he was too rooted to the spot, like the tree behind him, to bother moving to either escape or stand.

Takato walked towards him, his hands in his pockets.

Sakumo watched his progress; unbeknownst to him, the dog beside him opened an eyelid, and watched his master.

"May I sit?"

Sakumo nodded—Ichida-san took a seat on the bench, near Sakumo and the dog. The young shinobi felt the older man's presence differently than inside the ward room, Though Sakumo knew the man's aura to be wholly unassuming and very calm, Sakumo began to feel otherwise. A small oppression came over him, becoming ubiquitous in the air around him, as it became universally heavier, whether by emotion, or memory, or both. Sakumo felt aware enough now to want to ask him why he'd come, the real reason of his business, but the teen's throat was dry.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Sakumo began shaking his head, "No," he was surprised by the raspy unsteadiness in his own voice. He cleared his throat.

Takato smiled, and from his right hand, he released a small object visible only to himself, and he looked at it appreciatively. "They almost incinerated this with your clothes."

Sakumo finally looked up and saw a small white object—Sakumo's knees retracted, and his spine straightened as his whole upper body perked; Takato passed down the ivory and carbon blade. "Oh…!" he heard the boy say. Sakumo took it in his hands, looked at it, and clasped it tightly in his palm, and he drew his closed fist to his chest. Sakumo held it near his heart, saying nothing as his face pointed down and his eyes shut tight, as if he were grasping a rosary in the mouth of the whale; the only thing that might save him from his cold prison.

It was like Hizuren had told him, "He cherishes it, very much. And I believe he'd fight tooth and nail for that little thing," the young Sarutobi's voice had said. Takato smiled there, "His father gave it to him," Sarutobi said.

"Coushander…went through what you've now experienced," Takato said quietly.

The boy slowly drew up from his reverie, still clutching the blade to his breast.

"Death…makes us all change. Seeing death, is the worst there is. I know you understand that. But it's not over yet," Takato guided gently. "Naoya is still out there, with Miyoshi."

"…Naoya…!" Sakumo realized; he clambered up on his feet and suddenly looked across at Ichida-san; "Naoya—they haven't found him? Where are they?! What happened?"

Takato shook his head, "We don't—"

"Oh my God—_dammit!"_

"Easy now."

"I have to—I've got to find them!"

"Easy," Takato said again, a little more forcibly, but not unfriendly, nor unsympathetic; "They've asked me to help with the search, and the situation."

"…When…?!"

"…Where?"

"The west side—all has been quiet on the mountain-line, near the valley."

"But we came from the valley—through the tunnels!" Sakumo exclaimed, "There was a building, and ninja, and…" Sakumo voice extinguished with the small memory of Doramin. He stayed silent for some time, until he felt again what he held in his hand; "I…" he cleared his throat, "I can help you, I can sense chakra, I—"

"So can I. But according to Dalzen, your sense wasn't long-range."

The blade firmly enclosed in his fist, near Sakumo's heart, dropped loosely at his side; he looked down at the enclosed hand. "I…"

"Was he wrong?"

"…No," Sakumo said quietly, resigning himself.

"It might be better if you stay here."

"No, please—" Sakumo saw the doubtful look in the man's eyes. "—Please," Sakumo asked, "I should be out there, I should help."

"You may feel like you have to, but I'm not sure you're physically able to," Takato said. "…Can you?"

Sakumo nodded slowly, "Please," he said. "Let me do something."

Takato smiled, and after a moment, as he regarded the boy's stiff tenacity on the subject, Takato agreed. "…Fine."

Somehow, even as he said thank you, it felt like an irreparable sin he wanted to apologize for all over again. So he said it again, "Thank you."

**.**

"I say kick'em all in the eye."

"Eiji," Yohei scolded again the next afternoon.

"And why is that thing coming along?"

The red dog trotted close to Sakumo, in between him and Shin. Sakumo wasn't sure why, really, the dog had not yet returned to summon world. But Takato saved him from an excuse, "It'd be a little more helpful if you took a momentary break from nagging, Eiji. We all value your opinion, but if you don't have something constructive to say…"

The Mitarashi pulled back his obstinate stare under his captain's words. "Yes sir," he said. "I only meant to say those iwa sons-of—"

"Are of no concern yet to us. The daimyo stopped the raid, and I've got a hunch Naoya and Miyoshi ran into some kind of other trouble, it's hard to say, which is why we should focus on the task at hand," he said with purpose.

Teal's old sensei silenced the group easily.

Sakumo stared down at the road. He noticed both Shin and Eiji looking at him from time to time, but he kept his gaze even. The red dog followed equally, without sound.

The daimyo's men had failed him, all but two, and Kakuzu had lived, from what Yohei's scan of Sakumo revealed. It appeared the Uchiha had not dealt permanent enough damage. The young man had just been conscious enough to see this, as with the ninja who carried him away, all lost to Sakumo's knowledge. The daimyo had good reason to spite Konoha now, but since the attack, and Sakumo and Shin's escape, he hadn't dared, so far, to make a move on anyone. The idea became prevalent in Sakumo's troubled mind that Naoya and Koji were likely hostages, though Ichida-san had not yet voiced the idea.

They traveled north, to Takamatsu from the station. The village was just east of the divide, south a ways from the waterfall; the mine just north east. The landscape was a mélange of open road and forestland. They arrived at the city in the evening, as the sun shielded itself behind the red mountain, bringing a quick dusk over the green plateau.

The five men (and one dog) were met by Takahashi Tomohiro; the man most ardently opposed to the daimyo's pressuring and coercion, and one of the only true men defending the liberty of the people in the village. "I'm glad you've come," he told them privately, in his little house, "I needed to tell you this personally, and not over the normal lines of communication, for fear they'll know."

"What's happened?" Ichida asked him.

"The leaf shinobi Rion, has informed me what the lord over there wants."

"Rion…told you this?" Takato interrupted disbelievingly. Sakumo sensed he was genuinely surprised. "_Kujo_, Rion?"

"Yes," the dark-haired young man briefly smiled. "A taki messenger told him that if I surrender myself, the daimyo will let your people go."

Takato was silent for a moment. "When is the time limit?"

"Four days—I'm to go north, and go across the sea to the Adanaki port on tsuchi's north side," The young man, who looked to be thirty or so hesitated, and smiled, "One man seems a very small price to pay for all this trouble to end."

"Even so, he will take the mine back."

Tomohiro shook his head, "No, he won't…He's promised he won't touch Takamatsu, so long as 'Takahashi's son' has been silenced. Honestly, I don't mind, not anymore," he briefly glanced at the shinobi around him. "After those men died, I'm willing to do anything."

Sakumo recoiled his hands, and then re-clasped them, wincing inwardly. He noticed Eiji had watched him flinch. Finally Sakumo looked back up at Ichida-san, who spoke quietly, "Perhaps that…is what he counted on," Takato thought. "That's no good to give in like this. It's exactly what he wants. You'd be a martyr for nothing. Sorry. Is Rion still around?"

"…Oh, yes, he's staying with my niisan."

"Here…?"

Tomohiro nodded. "Honestly—let me do this. You could go and escort him home, he'd like the company."

Takato smiled. "I have an alternative."

"Oh don't interfere," Tomohiro pleaded; his brow set, "Please don't. I don't want anybody else to get killed. Please don't do it."

"If I did that…_I'd_ be disobeying an order."

The men looked on Takato with surprise. "Personally," he continued, "I have been ordered now, to 'interfere', This man, this evil, insane man has gotten away with the lives of your countrymen, and mine. It's clear his ambitions are more than serious, and that this man has began, or rather, already built something very wide around himself. I have seen it before, and so has Nidai. It's nothing new. This operation remains quiet by both parties, but it is our intention now to end it."

Just then, the front door opened—"Niisan," Tomohiro looked surprised.

Sakumo saw two men, both of whom tall. The older brother was much like his younger, with a straight and honest countenance, though taller, with dark hair covered by a dark gray hat, giving the impression at once he was something more of a business man from the city, though he was in plainer clothes. The man on his right was the opposite—a ruffian compared to the other man's young defined features. The stranger's hair was thick and loose but matted and it was brown mixed with a pepper grey, and it was messy, over his forehead; above a face worn with wrinkles. Though he appeared older, he was not stiff. Sakumo could not guess exactly hold old the man was, but he guessed he was very similar in age with Takato. The man wore an open green vest and dark blue clothes, a Konohagakure headband across his left shoulder.

"Rion," Takato nodded to him.

"Heard you talking," he said in a short, simple voice. His eyes were dark brown, and something seemed to smile in them almost mischievously at Ichida, and then around at the group.

Takato smiled, "I suppose you were never one for sitting still, were you?"

Kujo Rion shrugged nonchalantly, and he leaned against the wooden den wall, with his arms folded; Tomohiro's brother removed his hat, and sat next to his otouto on a wooden table chair. "I don't suppose," Rion admitted.

Sakumo discovered something very odd about the two; he wasn't sure if it was coldness or general dislike; he had always known Ichida void of either feelings, and yet the two were smiling as if they both claimed an odd capture, of sorts. Rion's smile was small, and Takato's, restrained. "Rion, I'd like your help in this, if you're up for it."

"Sorta figured that," he said, "Where?"

"Here. I'd like you, Shin, and Eiji to stay here, in the village."

"…What," Rion blinked, "That's it?"

Takato nodded.

"Then what?"

Then the rest of my team will proceed north, to Adanaki, without you, Tomohiro."

"What good will that do?" Rion asked him for the sake of the group, mainly Tomohiro; "Why let us sit on our hands?"

"Because by the time we leave there, he may send out a cell after the town, once he knows he's been fooled. And you'll be there."

"…Oh. An' I suppose you'll arrive back, just in the nick of time, then, eh? Theoretically, of course."

Takato nodded.

"Well," Rion said, standing himself on his own weight readily. "Good luck then," he said, casting a look to Takato and the group, and to Sakumo and the red dog. "See you on the flip-side then."

With that, he walked out calmly, ending the discussion. But after the door closed, Eiji burst, "What are you planning—sir!"

Takato smiled at him, "We will give him what he wants, and make sure he knows the consequence of such. I will not let Oikawa's death be in vain."

"Sir, may I ask," Sakumo said a safe ways out that morning; he was partially curious, and mostly desperate to think of something other than the events of the last few days. He needed any distraction he could. "Who is Rion, and how do you know him?"

Takato looked at him; Coushander's son was tall. Taller than himself, by two inches, at least, Takato thought. If the boy could pick his head up higher, he was almost the image of the Hatake in water country all those years ago. But Sakumo's hair was not cut around his face like Keiko had styled Jiraiya's, it was shorter than that, but the exact same color, nevertheless. He guessed Sakumo was five ten or eleven. And Takato smiled to himself as their path continued to incline sharply. "Honestly, I don't know him that well. I didn't know he was still in the area."

"…But, who is he?" Sakumo pursued. The five (including Korado) plodded on in silence, and again, Sakumo felt that air of indescribability. Takato looked upward, briefly, before he said, "An old acquaintance, of mine, of Dalzen, and especially of Keiko-san."

Sakumo added the words together slowly. _Acquaintance,_ he repeated…"Wait—Do you mean—?" he said, remembering the conversation he and his sensei once had, "Is he, or was he the one that Keiko-san knew—?"

"It's best if some things are left unsaid, Sakumo. It's old history now. Unfortunate, all the same."

As his voice ceased, so did all else. _A young man, who was very fond of her, _Sakumo remembered the words; _She ended it, just for that…?_ Rion was the man Dalzen had been referring to, but yet that didn't explain the straightness with which Takato and Rion addressed with each other. It was there he stopped the train of thought—they reached the very top, where the divide closed, at the mouth of the largest waterfall Sakumo had ever seen, or heard, as the land masses came closer together, the wide river flowing swiftly in between. The land then held steady on the taki side, but continued to incline by small degrees, becoming more mountainous.

**.**

January fifteenth, after two and a half days of travel, they arrived at Adanaki, in the night, after crossing the sea on foot, and they waited until the morning. Their captain turned himself in as Tomohiro, expertly hiding his chakra level, and the two Konoha ninja were released—Miyoshi Koji, and Hyuuga, Naoya. But as they waited for Ichida to come back out after he broke out of the both the guise and holding, Sakumo could feel immediately that Naoya's chakra was not the same as he'd been accustomed to: it was enormously powerful, and aged, somehow, or seasoned, he thought, with a quality of several different elements. Naoya only had one. Plus, it felt like it had been weakened recently—it was not at full capacity. Sakumo kept this knowledge to himself. The chakra he felt around that man was deeply cold like ice; and it was very familiar. He did not want to suppose it was who he thought it was, and yet, he forced himself to cope with the worst presumption.

The group waited far down along the shore, and not for long. Sakumo volunteered to keep watch, for two reasons—he could sense their captain's chakra, and suppress his own paranoia. It worked out sufficiently well. As soon as Sakumo caught the first wave of presence, he forced himself to wait until the man came over; there was barely a scratch on him. Sakumo looked at him expectantly, assuming Ichida-san already knew; he did, but he smiled to Sakumo, nodding shortly, and greeted the two ninja with a wide and proud smile. Sakumo admired the captain's strength in an instant. Both Dalzen and Takato had that ability to handle any situation as it came; perhaps it only came with age and experience. Sakumo wondered now if Takato could hazard a guess as to who the man was behind Naoya's pearl-eyed face. Takato led them out onto the water, and proceeded a ways out as if they were going back, but as they reached almost four hundred yards out, it was time to find out the imposter.

Yohei was bewildered—Koji was shocked. But Naoya, was not, and moved away the instant Takato threw the shuriken. Takato drew another weapon, and the man dropped the guise:

Kakuzu ran.

Takato ran after him. _"Move!"_

Kakuzu led them across the north sea, all the back to the mouth of the estuary, and from there, into the shadowland of the divide, down the river.

They followed that river, throwing everything at the man to slow him down. A kunai laden with charged lightning chakra finally hit, and did it, to some extent, just before they reached the massive waterfall. Sakumo used speed to recover the blade and re-threw it; the man dodged, and from there, Takato cut in, engaging the man on the river. Water proved to be both their elements. Kakuzu himself was very similar in appearance to Doramin—medium skinned, dark brows, dark greasy black hair—his nose and mouth were both covered by a charcoal grey mask. He wore loose grey clothes, tied at his waist by a brown sash. He wore no headband underneath his bangs. Sakumo watched Takato use a strong water wall to block a fire style jutsu; "Where is our man?" he demanded. "Where?"

Kakuzu wouldn't answer.

Yohei and Koji were still slightly mystified Kakuzu had replaced their teammate—Sakumo managed to eye Koji, and the two paired up, leaving Takato and Yohei. The red hunter stayed back in the trees—watching his master closely. Kakuzu showed he had used his village's jutsu well: through created means, he showed he had the water, fire, and earth affinities. Sakumo was blown back a few times, but it was not by wind, but by a refined level of taijutsu. Sakumo struck back unafraid, and uncaring—he had the one kunai, and that was all he needed. But Kakuzu seemed mostly intent upon their captain, and likewise—and with the same taijutsu, Takato was suddenly knocked backwards, landing in the river. Yohei retreated, and Sakumo ran in abruptly with the same burning in him as the heat of the battle on the mountain line. He engaged the man on his own, fighting the taijutsu, using flesh activation in small form of chidori—his hands were charged, and Kakuzu knew it.

But something else was different—the whole young man simply emanated with chakra.

Ichida Takato had never sensed anything like it before in his life.

Koji stayed back—Yohei had helped his captain up, and Takato looked on dumb-struck as he was processing what he was sensing between the two; Kakuzu's ice, and Sakumo's white static. The two levels were nearly the same. There was little difference. Impossible, he thought to himself. The red hunter dog suddenly leapt from the treeline—he cantered across the water of the river easily, to aide his master, and there he leapt, to bite the man's arm or leg—whichever he came into contact with first. Sakumo blocked a hit on his arms, and tried gripping the man in return, sending static—Kakuzu quickly reversed his hold, and broke off; Sakumo pursued him in an instant. The red dog barked abruptly, and Takato ran forward a ways on the water, "Sakumo, stop!"

It was too late—Kakuzu suddenly jumped, but then Sakumo knew it—the man unleashed a powerful fire jutsu—Sakumo's water wall was quickly able to block it, but their captain's had not been—both were throw back by the force of it, their captain falling harder than he. Sakumo heard the dog barking as he surfaced from the river, stumbling upon it, and staggering upright, looking around. He saw the renegade retreated down the divide, toward the mountain's side, to tsuchi. Sakumo cantered after him—

"Sakumo, stop!"

This time, the voice belonged to Miyoshi Koji—but Sakumo hadn't heard until the red hunter bit the back of his pant leg. Sakumo tumbled forwards, and Koji caught him in time, "Let him go. He's gone." In a daze, Sakumo turned back—Yohei had moved their captain onto the land—he had a concussion from the rock from force of the fiery gale. Acting as leader, Koji suggested they take him back to the village, to the med station. Tacitly, they both agreed. Sakumo looked down at his dog curiously, but he said nothing, and followed the men back.

They made it before nightfall, with no other shinobi showing up. Sakumo sensed nothing. Koji briefed them on what had happened—all the ninja were present around the waterfall outside the med station. Rion, Shin, Eiji, Koji, Yohei, and Sakumo, with his dog. Rion seemed surprised, "Will he be all right?"

Yohei nodded—"Yes, but he's in no condition to give orders. He's still unconscious."

Rion looked at Sakumo. "Do you sense Kakuzu at all? Or anyone else?"

He shook his head.

"Well what would you know," Rion remarked.

Yohei spoke up, "Well, sir, you're most qualified to lead us—"

"Me?" Rion grinned. He looked around at the five younger men in the darkness. "We all know a jounin must take that position. Since Takato's out…that leaves Sakumo."

"…What?!" Eiji was the first to exclaim.

"What—" Yohei uttered, staring at the young man.

Koji, too was surprised. "Are you serious?"

All pairs of eyes looked on Sakumo, until he wanted to ask 'What' himself and join in the chorus, but he refrained. He looked on at Rion steadily.

"Well are we talking about age, or position?" Rion remonstrated. "Position wins every time."

Sakumo eyed the older man with surprise—"You're not jounin?" he asked the group's question.

Rion seemed to suppress the broadest grin yet. "Genin."

Sakumo never would have believed it—he looked around the group.

Koji was wide-eyed. "I am chuunin…" he admitted.

Eiji grunted self-deprecatingly, with an obstinate and angry huff.

"I'm but genin," Yohei told.

And Sakumo knew Shin was still chuunin. Sakumo turned back to Rion, in front of him with his arms folded, and Sakumo looked at him incredulously. He'd misread this man from the start, and had no inclination as to his motives now for pushing the subject so forcefully. But Rion stood there, smiling, so falsely congenial, as if he were suddenly somehow trying to murder the young man with a heavy responsibility upon his callow shoulders. Sakumo was determined not to flinch under it—he was trying to understand why that man would even suggest such a thing so adamantly. It surprised him, and shocked Eiji very well as the man suddenly gave a humorless laugh, "That's absurd," the Mitarashi said firmly, "He's not even twenty years old," he looked at Yohei, "How long until the captain can come around?"

"Well it's hard to say," Yohei admitted, "I don't know."

Rion's grin was becoming unnerving.

Sakumo longed to reprove him and ask him his antics, but at the same time, he could not actually refuse this command, for to do so would be an awkward dishonor to himself and to his rank. But Sakumo began to understand, incrementally, why Takato treated Rion with such friendly reserve. The man had a quirk, or rather, an ardent desire to put people in odd situations, and this occasion was as steep with it as Sakumo could have ever imagined, facing a possible first command, since his last first failed command, something Rion had never been apart of. Sakumo had never even seen him before until four days ago. And it was ironic, considering Sakumo had never met any of these men except Shin, who had served with him on his first command, in guard duty, along with his other previous teammate Dura Nekai.

"Well?" Rion looked at him curiously.

Sakumo would not get caught in his little game, whatever it was; Sakumo turned to Yohei, and Eiji, on his right, "What were Ichida-san's orders, exactly?"

"Well—we were in the area—it was an accident, really," Yohei said awkwardly, "But a messenger came in from the south side with orders from Nidai, asking if Ichida-san would engage the situation, as Oikawa did. That's all."

Sakumo considered. He looked on at Koji, "Where were you held?"

"An island—an island north off the shore. I suppose I only saw it head-on…" he smiled briefly; "Naoya is probably still there. The south-east side," he clarified. "A port town called Jinhu."

"All right, then…" Sakumo swallowed a great deal of youthful tumult inside of him; "Then I suggest, I go after him—while you all stay here, and protect Takamatsu. Miyoshi-san, I'd place you in charge of things here."

Several murmurs ascended, in a collective surprise. "What? Why?" Koji asked him. His red hair was brown in the night. "Why you? That's impossible. Not on your _own_."

"I can sense his position. And I won't be going it alone," Sakumo said, referring to the red dog near his feet. "I can handle myself. I know I can. And besides, any more men would draw far too much attention, and take away from the defenses here, in case another raid should happen. I wouldn't want to fight a war on two fronts. I'd rather have just the one. I can handle it," he repeated. "I know Naoya. Let me find him, and bring him back."

"…Absurd…!" Eiji muttered harshly.

Sakumo himself did not know if his words were brave, or stupid.

"Perhaps, there is some other way…" Yohei murmured anxiously.

"Naoya is Hyuuga, and he is of the main house of his clan," Sakumo said into the night. "He must be rescued; and this village must be protected. I see those as the only two goals. You are five men—until I get back," he added, semi-confidently.

Silence ensued.

Rion visibly grinned—he unfolded his arms and began walking. "Hey!" Koji said, "Where are you going?"

"To take my post. Wouldn't want to get a slip for laziness," The group was taken aback by the older man's eagerness. Rion stopped for a moment, looking at Sakumo, "When are you leaving, captain?"

He thought after a second; "Now."

Shin stepped forward, "Sakumo let me go with you," he protested.

"Or me," Koji suggested.

"No," Sakumo shook his head. "Stay here—try and get in touch with the taki ninja. This place is as much theirs to defend. Tell them to send somebody," Sakumo turned and overtook Rion—the two exchanged glances, and Sakumo walked on to the north, alone.

Once outside the village, he ran; convinced, if he could complete his self-assigned task, and come back after only a few days, he might earn the respect of the men. He traveled as far as he could without rest, thinking, easier said than done. The red dog followed him obediently, without argue or admonishment. But the silence actually grew to unnerve him, as the inu summons, each, were fully capable of human speech. It drove Sakumo uneasy until the break he took in the dense and dark forest, where Sakumo broke his own silence, keeping his voice quiet, as he sat on the ground, with his back against a tree, "You have nothing to say?" he asked.

The dog stood on all fours, and said nothing.

"You've been with me ever since…the men…Why?"

The dog sat. "To be sure of your character."

"My…character?"

"No one…No one ever summoned me in a manner as that, in that place, in that room," the dog's head flinched. "I have never been called like that before."

Sakumo felt remorse. He thought it might be prudent to apologize, but the red hunter continued, "And I saw…_you_ had never been in that kind of situation before, either," the dog looked away from his master's reserve, up the path. "But at least _you_ knew what to do. You've held up—but to what extent?"

Sakumo could not answer. "I don't know."

"I think you do," the dog returned, quietly, without the scorn of judgment. Korado looked upon his master with calm. "It's our duty, to check our master's person," he explained. "From first meeting, and through on through, for as long as we serve. We do not serve a master who is cruel, or afraid, and we do not serve a master who is too gentle, or unafraid. Our last master was our lady, whom we followed since youth, in the land of mist. And before that, it was her father, a doctor. But…" Korado hesitated, "The darkness of that night…is indescribable. I have never witnessed such a thing, and neither has any of my comrades."

A black cricket began to chirrup again.

"I'm sorry," Sakumo apologized quietly. "But what could I do—What could I have done?" he said, physically coiling from the image his mind presented him.

"Nothing else," the hunter said silently. "But I admit—I should have stayed with you."

Sakumo looked at the dog. Korado was staring at the grass; "I was…frightened," he admitted. After a while, he resumed, "Hairo, is our best tracker and runner. And I am supposed to be our best hunter. I did not feel like much of anything in that room. Sakumo-sensei; you have more courage than I do."

"It's not courage," Sakumo interjected, "It wasn't that."

"Then what was it?"

"I don't know."

Korado gazed upon the path ahead; "Lead dog says that courage, is the fulcrum that moves history. Lead dog is always right about these things. That is what he told me."

Sakumo smiled faintly; the sentiment itself was true. "Well," he spoke shakily, "I'm not sure how brave I was—it was just instinct. I'm not sure. Who can say?" The shinobi did not mean to have his question answered. On the contrary, he'd inadvertently aimed it upon himself, trying to understand his own behavior; which was in turn mostly futile since Sakumo turned away from that sordid memory of darkness each and every time it manifested.

The dog looked at him. "I believe in your heart, and I believe we can rescue the Hyuuga. I believe…in your endurance."

Sakumo smiled; "I have to save him—or my career…is finished."

**.**

"What is that?" Rion asked him.

Koji handed over the sheet of paper, dated yesterday's date; Rion read:

_Jan 18 Instruction: Stay where you are; coordinate w/Taki. Word is something dissuaded Kakuzu writes iwa Higure—Ka. is no longer in service of the dai. W/that support gone, situation. has apparently lulled. Await further order._

"It's official," Koji said.

"Hm."

"A taki man brought it to the station twenty minutes ago. He's staying there now. He's been ordered here."

"What's the word on Ichida?"

"Still recuperating."

"Still unconscious…?"

"He started to wake up this evening. Just for a brief period. He's going to come out of it," the red-head smiled.

"Oh. What's that?" Rion asked him about the other sealed note in the ninja's hand.

"Oh—a letter," Koji said. "For Sakumo; the taki man brought it too."

"Who's it from?"

"I don't know; it comes from the village. Probably family."

"He has no family."

"Well—a friend, then. I don't know."

"Let me see."

The exchanged the letters. Rion studied the katakana lines. "A child wrote this," he declared.

"So?"

"A child…maybe nine years old. His mother…has black hair."

Koji looked at the man with a mixture of awe and confusion; "Why in the hell are you here, anyway?" he turned remonstrative, "And why the heck are you so interested in that poor boy?"

"It's not interest," Rion passed the letter back to Koji. To which Miyoshi asked him, "Then what is it?"

"It's prejudice," Rion said simply, staring off at the dark mountain. "It's an old prejudice," he sighed deprecatingly. "One I will never shake," he narrowed his eyes at the distant rock.

"Because he's a jounin?"

"Because he is Hatake," Rion answered.

"Well what in the world has he done to you? You've just said he has no family. The boy is nineteen—he offended you in that short of time?!"

"I'm going to watch the north side," said Rion, "It's my night…and it's my memory. Stay out of both."

The man arrived at the north side of Takamatsu, the whole town sleeping under an indigo sky, dotted by white points of light. Tomohiro had stood watch, however, in a civilian's sense of duty. Rion was about to speak to relive the younger man when the two heard rustling in the trees; Rion drew a weapon—three figures came out of the darkness of the forest line—Hyuuga Naoya, a red dog, and the devil himself, or so Rion saw. "Shit," he cursed. "What in the hell?" He ran forward. The young Hyuuga looked ill-used as he collapsed—the silver haired boy looked spent, but he lowered the Hyuuga carefully on the ground, and stood. "Get the doctor—get somebody," Rion said; Tomohiro ran.

"We're all right," Sakumo sighed, holding up his weight steadily. "Naoya…needs to be looked at—" Sakumo's right arm balanced him somewhat as he came around and leaned on the tree-trunk. "What's your status?"

Surprised at even being asked the question, Rion studied him further; the young man seemed to be in one piece with his mask and his clothes. His hair looked messy. "Nothing new—it's been quiet. We just got official order tonight, actually," he added nonchalantly; "And Takato's waking up."

Sakumo looked up, and nodded, "Good—I'm glad," he said to himself.

There was still something about him that looked like he was on the verge of collapse. Rion looked down at the Hyuuga, drifting asleep. "Can we move him?"

Sakumo nodded.

Rion picked the Hyuuga up himself, in arms, and Sakumo followed, along with Korado, in tandem. "Oh," Rion remembered. "A letter came for you too."

"Hm," Sakumo inquired, half-asleep himself.

"It's from your little brother."

Sakumo stopped and his eyes suddenly widened. "What?"

Rion halted, and turned his head, "You heard me."

"How…do you know that?!" Sakumo asked, his eyes flashing at the man.

"Never mind how I know."

"You don't tell a soul!" Sakumo commanded, "That kind of thing—"

"Gets people killed. Yeah yeah," Rion began moving. "I know the story."

"Who—" Sakumo lost the train of thought in his weariness. Instead of lagging he decided to get the man's full attention and move ahead of him. Sakumo trotted to be in front, with a last burst of social alacrity, forcing Rion to stop. "I know you," Sakumo said pointedly. "I know you and Keiko-san were once—"

"What the fuck do you pretend to know?" Rion asked him callously. "It was before your time, son."

"Then why the hell are you mocking me?" Sakumo irritably remonstrated, "Placing me, in command! You're right, I hardly know you! But I do understand this—that this hatred of yours isn't my fault. If you care to pick a fight, I suggest you go back to the village, and find her yourself and settle it—I have nothing to do with this!" he disclaimed.

The man made no response—Sakumo watched him move aside and walk on. Sakumo stared after his backside in dismay, unsure of what he'd just done, or what kind of response he provoked. After another moment, Sakumo followed him from a distance, and the dog followed Sakumo. It was his last name, he imagined, that had shaped the older man's opinion of him from the start, in prejudice. But neither he, nor his father, he felt, were the cause of the broken relationship between his step-mother and Rion. She had ended it herself; Dalzen had told him himself.

Sakumo thought nothing else on the matter when he arrived at the station. He was too tired to move.

**.**

The letter was marked three days ago; she read:

_Dear Keiko-san, Jan 22  
__You may have heard of certain events lately, but know that I am all right, and I stay here now with the others of my own volition. This place needs protecting, and I will stay, until the job is done. Ichida-san has recovered now, and he's getting around well. We're very relieved. Please do not worry on my sake—Korado has been looking after me. He is very loyal. I hope you're well—I may be able to write again if we stay long. Send Jii my love & apologies. I received his letter. Please take care, Sakumo_

"Oh…my God…" she murmured.

Jiraiya looked up from the stool with his arms and chin resting on the counter. "What is it? Who's it from?"

She looked around the kitchen, "Dear Lord," she said again quietly. She looked at the letter, and then folded it to it's previous state carefully, and put it back in the envelope. "Come with me," she said, walking out of the room—"I need to see someone."

It was early evening, in the leaf village on the twenty-fifth. Kano Hoseki went into the missions' office with haste, and finally found who she was looking for, smoking, in an office—"Jiraiya, please stay out here for a minute."

Keiko went in and shut the door, "Hello, forgive me, but I need to speak with you."

"Of course—" he leaned forward, putting the pipe down, "What is it?"

She produced the letter, and approached the desk, holding it up, "What in the world is going on at _taki?!"_

Sarutobi leaned back, "Well…we're not exactly supposed to break silence on it…"

The woman held tears in her eyes.

"But it's under control," Hizuren quickly amended truthfully. "It is under control. It's all right."

"Was he forced to write this?!"

"He wrote it? Sakumo did?"

"Yes, he wrote it!" she said, "But I can't believe why he would _stay!"_ Keiko blinked back, looking down at the white envelope in her hand with her address written in her step-son's hand. "Not if he…if he really _did_…"

"Sakumo's actions were…courageous, under the circumstances…"

"So why would he stay? Why would they _let_ him stay?"

"Probably because he doesn't want to leave."

"But why?!"

"Well…" Hizuren thought simply; "…Duty," It was the only answer he could give.

The letter dropped at her side as she hovered there, lost in a mix of emotions.

"Sakumo is a brave kid," Sarutobi smiled. "He's growing up."

She smiled sadly—a tear dropped from her eyes. "…Yes," she said quietly. "I guess he is…" she looked up, "But, how long will they stay?"

Hizuren didn't know—he shrugged. "As long as have to—at least until taki recalls their request; it's hard to say. It depends on a lot of things; the daimyo's stomach for a long fight, for one thing. I hope he hasn't."

Kano nodded slowly. "Well…thank you," she said.

Hizuren was used to it. "No problem," he looked at her, "Did he say anything interesting?"

"Hm? Oh—no, it was all quite general. He said Takato is better—I hope he wasn't wounded…It's just," she transfixed her gaze from the floor to the desk, "It's just he's been gone, close to a month now, and after those men died, I just…"

"I understand," said Hizuren, looking down at his papers. "Let's hope something can happen up there. I've seen quite a few tragedies so far—but nothing like that. But; it was just confirmed…that night," Sarutobi lowered his voice, "Sakumo did kill two of the four men. The interrogator, too, I suspect. Said his heart suddenly stopped. Don't know how."

"Can you be sure?"

"Only as far as our tsuchi contact goes—and Sakumo's own memory."

"Oh," she said, thinking. "And what of…Kakuzu?"

Sarutobi smiled. "Sakumo takes the watches—he hasn't sensed that scoundrel since he met him on the northern island…" Hizuren's voice extinguished, "Though I shouldn't have told you that…" He shook his head and continued, "But if that renegade does come back…" he mused, thinking of Takato's report, "I believe they can handle themselves."

Kano looked shocked by his belief; "What? But Kakuzu is one of the strongest and most dangerous missing-nin, he's—"

"I shouldn't share with you this info, but based on Ichida-san's report…Sakumo…held his own. Quite well."

She was astounded; "…What?!" she asked as if she'd misheard.

"Please do not make me say anything more," Hizuren smiled.

She smiled shortly in dismay, "I can't believe it…_Sakumo?!"_ she questioned.

He nodded.

"My…Word…" Keiko murmured.

**.**

Jiraiya waited ten seconds. "Mom, what did you talk to sensei about?"

She pursed her lips and looked down at the letter as they walked. She said, "You can read this when we get home."

"Is it…about Sakumo?"

"It's…from, Sakumo."

"Really?! Did he get my letter? What'd he say?!"

"Quiet," Keiko said, "Just wait," she said calmly.

They could not walk home fast enough for Jiraiya's liking, so she gave in, and her son finally silenced; she gave him the letter just as they turned down the lane.

Jiraiya barely understood a word of it, asking her what happened.

The number of his questions only increased.

**.**

Rion was silent.

He met Sakumo as the young man (with his red dog) got back from making rounds near the waterfall. Sakumo was about to retake his post on the north side of town. Upon seeing Rion, he wasn't sure what to say, if anything. The two hadn't talked now for almost five days. But now, as the second jounin in a group of seven men, plus a taki chuunin, Sakumo felt the obligation to inform the Konoha chuunin, "No movement. I sensed nothing."

Rion nodded shortly.

"I'm taking watch—you're relived now."

The older man looked at the mountain, distant, in the dark blue west. "Naoya headed out tonight."

"Did he?" Sakumo was surprised. _Naoya,_ he thought sadly. Just after four days, the young Hyuuga made the decision to leave. Not just to leave the mission due to physical and mental incapacity, but to leave the shinobi world entirely. Sakumo was surprised Naoya had left so suddenly without seeing his old teammate. He didn't blame him; Naoya's experiences on the island proved harsher than those of Koji. The two had been kept in different areas. The young man was a Hyuuga, and that special discrimination had led to revelations in Naoya's soul he found unable to cope with, including a horror of being subjected to nothing more than a mouse in a lab. Sakumo had found him very ill-used. Sakumo dealt as much damage possible to that facility—running into Kakuzu along the way, presumably the headmaster come back from Lord knows where, and Sakumo had fought him, but the ex-taki man ran, as before, and Sakumo, having Naoya with him in such a condition, had to let him escape.

Sakumo shared a sense of empathy with the Hyuuga—Naoya, as well, had not been consciously willing to share what had happened; not like Koji, his partner. So it was Yohei who had to discover what had happened, and Yohei, in turn, flinched with memory now of two morbid tales. Currently, the man was withdrawn and reticent. Eiji actually began to talk to him more recently, and his tone was no longer as belligerent.

"Did you know him well?"

Sakumo nodded.

"Well," Rion said solemnly, "This life'll sure teach you what you can take."

Sakumo found himself offering a conciliatory nod.

"And perhaps, with all this change…" he said heavily—Sakumo looked up. "Perhaps, I ought, to…apologize…" Rion said uneasily, keeping his eyes straight. He smiled mirthlessly. "Maybe I am still angry. With her. Over what happened."

Sakumo listened silently.

Rion glanced at him. "It's just, when I see you, I see the son of the destroyer of all my hopes—my only hope. You're right. She never had any contact with him, and yet, the girl…Damn," he murmured. "I nearly had her. I _loved_ her.

"When I met her," he said, "I was a wreck. No—no…" he stopped himself, "I was a handsome wreck. Just like you, or that Hyuuga kid. I saw too much. I saw it all. And I was ready to let go, and…wind up in some mad house. They couldn't tame me. I was wild as the night. And I was silent. They don't like silent ones," he said with a heaviness of truth in his voice. "I survived three weeks in the med station off Kusa, then they carried me and a few others to the one just outside the village, on the north side. That's where I met her. I hadn't seen a woman in so long…" he chuckled softly, "She was an angel. I guess really…what did it—she paid attention to me. Those field doctors, the ones in Kusa, oh they were murder. They'd come in your room, the flowers would die overnight. It was disgusting. When she came in…" Rion smiled, looking down. "Well, anyway. She was an angel. That's all I'll say. We saw each other quite a bit after I got out, and I fell in love with her. Maybe…it was impossible not to…

"I'd heard her talk about her friends—and the one she missed. That guy. Your father. I never really thought anything of it. He was gone. She cared about me. I knew she did…at least a little. I was ready to propose the week Ichida told her Dalzen had seen him. A week later, I finally got up the pluck to ask…and she turned me down. I couldn't understand why—she'd made up her mind not to fall for anybody. That's what she said. She was so flustered—I just couldn't understand. I suppose I still don't, even after years of trying. Who knows. They're monsters. She ripped out the only heart she created right outta me. I couldn't take no for an answer—I _couldn't_. I pursued her, frequently, and from then on, she was distant. She didn't want to hurt me, but it was already too late for that…" Rion shook his head. "I gave up after a while, and drank myself silly. I tried everything to forget her. You name it. But I couldn't…She wouldn't love me. Ichida made me understand that."

The two men stood there in the night, silently.

"I guess she's single now, though," Rion remarked. "I still love her," he said. "I wouldn't know if she'd ever want to see me again though. She's got a boy now, I know. Think I could approach her?"

Someone else walked in on them; "So long as you don't stalk her."

The voice was Takato.

"Sir," Sakumo smiled.

Rion looked at him. "Hey are there any other men I should know about…? Perhaps there was another man in water country she's holding out for…? Why are you grinning at me like that. It's a perfectly reasonable question. Who knows, when it comes to women…They're monsters…disguised as angels," he corrected. "Well…" he looked down awkwardly, surprised he'd told the Hatake as much. "I am relived from my post. I'll leave you to it then." Rion left them, walking down for the south side.

"Sir," Sakumo said, "How are you?"

"I'm all right," said Takato; "Sakumo…I would like to talk to you. It was in my report two days ago, and I'd like you to know…And I think you may now know it as well."

"…Sir?"

"I'm talking about Kakuzu. When you fought him, at the waterfall, I could sense there was…little difference between your chakra levels. At first, I wasn't sure if even I could admit it. But it's the truth, isn't it?"

Sakumo looked away.

"You didn't mention this in your own report when you brought back Naoya, but I suspect you must have known it then. Did you?"

Slowly, Sakumo nodded.

Takato smiled. "No ordinary ninja can stand up to him, and escape unscathed. Power like that is rare," he said quietly. "It's the stuff that wins battles, and wars. Don't be discouraged by it. I think if you could learn to channel that power, you could fight more effectively. I don't pretend to know why Kakuzu retreated as he did, but on both occasions, you were both engaged. It may be something to consider, it may be wise to seek out a sensei. One who could help you with your element. It's lightning, isn't it? Just like your uncle's."

Sakumo nodded; "…You mean, an element specialist?"

"Yes. I've never seen, or sensed, a chakra like yours…not since Saru-Shin, actually. You're chakra reminds me a lot of his, and yet a little different. It's stronger. Have you seen any sensei, since Dalzen?"

"No," Sakumo said simply.

"So you've been on your own."

"I practice," Sakumo said. "But, I guess, I never really noticed—not until I faced Kakuzu the second time. I knew it then…I did know it then," he admitted. "I…nearly had him," he relived the pain he felt from letting the ex-taki nin go.

Takato admired the boy. "I know a Senju, with the same element as you. He works as a special jounin in elemental training. I only regret I can't show you something," Takato smiled, "I'm not that caliber of ninja. You've definite got your father's and your uncle's genes in you. Especially Saru's."

Sakumo smiled faintly, "I know."

**.**

"Are we going to get the bastards or not?" he asked early the next morning.

"Killing…will not bring the men back…" he said with more disdain in his quiet voice.

"No? But maybe if we wounded them? Just a little? Put them in their place? They must be taught the lesson, that if you give me a black eye, I'll put a _zori_ up your—"

"Oh—hello, Sakumo," Yohei greeted without a smile.

The nineteen year old nodded. "Any news from Higure?"

"Sakumo—" Eiji caught himself before addressing the young man as 'kun'. He smiled briefly. "You agree with me, right? Calling a spade, a spade?"

Sakumo smiled furtively, and said quietly, "My father wouldn't have called it anything else."

"Right, so, I was thinking…"

**.**

March seventeenth, the taki crises ended. March nineteenth, the Konoha men returned home; Sakumo stepped on to Konohagakure's soil for the first time in seventy-five days. He went with Takato to deliver a final (and brief) post-report, and Sakumo noticed a door open on the left hand side of the hall. He stopped and the man occupying the small office noticed him right away; "Sakumo!" Hizuren said, rising from his chair. He exited the dim office and met the twenty year old in the hallway. Sarutobi smiled, "Sakumo, how are you?"

The young man nodded. "Fine," he said quietly. "And you?"

"Oh—yes, thank you, I'm doing good—" Hizuren could not tell what the Hatake's mood was. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

Hizuren became stumped after a moment upon the shortness of the answer. "Oh," he said, mainly to himself. "Was…the trip back all right?"

Sakumo nodded, saying nothing.

"Oh…" he said again, surprised by Sakumo's taciturnity. "Well…I just thought you might have had some trouble getting past those new winged monkeys we set outside the gates, there…" Hizuren grinned.

He must have provoked a smile, at the least (which was his goal), as Sakumo's head came down for a moment before he looked back up; "No, no trouble," Sakumo informed. "Thank you, Hizuren."

**.**


	33. It's Just the Dawn

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 33  
_**It's Just the Dawn**_

**.**

**.**

He sweat over up-turned sod, and he smiled to himself, faintly; as faint as the nitrogen content in it, which wasn't much since the dirt was nearly as dry as sand. Typical. He gave his back and arms a rest as he let the shovel fall; he pulled out the jackknife from his pocket and knelt down to cut a thickly knotted rope to remove it from one end of the short wooden spike. He used the knife instead of chakra because he'd left the shinobi side of him back in the village yesterday. Sakumo let the two spikes and the rope fall tossed on the pile of potential stuffs to burn. It was about all they'd be good for, he thought to himself. He picked up the shovel again and stared over the smoky grey earth. "Hm," he remarked, for no reason. It was very early morning, March twenty-first. There was another mission he applied for to leave the morn of the twenty-eighth. He hoped seven days would be enough time to peace some order. Sakumo worked relentlessly on the square of land.

He temporarily quit after the noon hour, showered, changed, and set out to meet his past sensei's old friend to go and meet a sensei, a specialist, in elemental training. Sakumo wasn't exactly sure what the result would be. The man was a prominent, if not widely known Senju in his late thirties, about thirty-eight; a son of none other than Senju Hashirama, the Shodaime hokage, and founder of the shinobi village in Konoha. Sakumo wasn't completely familiar with the family branch, but he'd seen this son standing proudly with his own daughter, a blonde-haired little girl who was in the same team with Jiraiya under Hizuren. She was nothing short of royalty as far as the village was concerned because of that lineage. Sakumo could not begin to imagine the feeling of called Shodaime as 'my great ojiisan'…

Sakumo met Takato outside the building on the west side, beyond the memorials, just north of three of the shrines; it was where the man lived, and worked, similar to the way Sarin operated down south, with his forest. But this building was old-fashioned, with wood everywhere—Sakumo could smell it as he walked in the entrance. Nothing had been processed or manufactured, it was all built and carved by hand; the entrance-way was ornate, but simple, carved in frame designs, accentuating the grain of the wood, and little else. Hanging baskets of small pink and white flowers hung off the exposed beams. The ante-room was fairly wide, like a small reception area. There was not a soul around, but Sakumo could sense strong presences in the chambers...none of which, he felt, matched his own. They were too low, and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty and out of place. The Senju ran a small staff here, specialized as element training and advanced ninjutsu. The two waited on a bench in the waiting room, and it was about ten minutes before two men exited the training chamber. The brown-haired Senju did not look the slightest bit fazed, but Sakumo sensed immediately the other ninja's chakra was a little over half-spent, and the ninja smiled windily, thanking the Senju a final time.

"Well", the Senju smiled—his dark brown eyes shone; Sakumo almost felt as if he were being looked through like an open window. The sensei's manner seemed easygoing, but with that same, classic, Senju ferocity and strength. "Hello Takato; this must be your teammate."

"Well—"

"Sakumo, is it?" the sensei asked. "Yes sir," Sakumo said abruptly.

Next to him, Takato smiled, and stood, already coming to terms with the fact he'd seldom get a word in. Sakumo also stood—Takato nodded to the Senju, "Thanks for taking the time to see him."

"No trouble at all! I'm at an odd bit of a lull right now, please, this way, follow me."

He led them into the long room; it was mostly bare, save a collection of katana, kunai, and tantou along the right hand side, all standing in holders and brackets—some looking old and worn by wear of the sheathes, but most glinted bare, without covers. There were at least six katana lined in a row that had no corresponding sheath; they looked mostly dull, with different color hilts; red, yellow, and green. The sensei closed the door and took a place by the wall near the blades, "Takato-san told me you're a strong rai-type?"

"Yes sir," Sakumo answered. He noticed Takato had folded his arms, and took a place on the opposite wall, about sixteen feet away, smiling contentedly as if he'd foreseen some miracle premonition. Sakumo felt like he'd been set up just to be shown off, and he smiled again, guiltily, under his mask.

"Good, good. Tell me, when was the last time you served under a sensei?"

"Four years ago, sir."

"And that was with…?"

"Morino Dalzen, sir."

"…Oh!" the man realized. "Oh yes, yes yes! Now I remember—I thought you looked familiar, yes I remember you," he said. "You saved those men, didn't you?" Sakumo was momentarily speechless, he nodded his head awkwardly. The Senju walked over and picked a katana from the rack, with a red color hilt. "I remember that. Well, I'm sure Dalzen taught you something with earth against lighting," the sensei smiled. Sakumo said nothing, before he realized he could have answered him. "Well," the Senju walked over to Sakumo. "These katana with the red hilts are quite special, and quite rare—the blades themselves are able to react to the smallest amount of chakra. They're made from a special metal in a delicate process; I use these frequently in the assessment one's chakra output: how it can be felt, increased, and then decreased in a way that gives the user some sense of control. Take this," the sensei passed him the blade, and stepped back a few paces. "Now rai is your primary element, correct?"

"Ye sir."

"Are you prone to any other elements?"

"Yes—earth and water, sir."

"Three," the Senju remarked. "No wonder you're jounin. That's very interesting. Since lightning is still the main, I'd like you to close your eyes, and hold out the blade a bit, and focus your chakra to the blade. The chakra will show on the blade like a little glow, go ahead."

Sakumo closed his eyes, and focused his chakra—

The katana blade erupted in white sparks, charging the air in a wide pocket of static electricity—"What the—?!"

Sakumo stopped the flow abruptly—the Senju was visibly taken aback with surprise emanating from his eyes. On the other side, Sakumo noticed Takato still smiling in satisfaction. "How did you—?!" the Senju man spoke in bewildered fragments, "How did…I thought…Hm…" he finally settled. The sensei scanned the twenty-year old. "Um—try—try that again, would you?"

Sakumo looked down and focused—the blade sparked again, igniting the air in a blaze of white static—Sakumo stopped it short again.

"Unbelievable…" the man pronounced; "Takato…come here…there must be something wrong…"

After tries by Ichida and the Senju himself, they could not produce the same result. The sensei passed back the blade, "All right, change your form this time, try—try earth—no, no, water. Try the water element."

Sakumo closed his eyes and changed his chakra. The white stuff slipped along the blade fluidly, but not translucent; an opaque white completely engulfed the blade, and grew wider, in width and length.

The Senju was at a loss for words.

He replaced the blade with a regular katana, where the metal was not treated, and he asked Sakumo to produce the same result.

He did.

"Well—Lord, that is something," the Senju remarked as the chakra dispersed and Sakumo opened his eyes. "You've never had any practice with this?"

"No sir—Just with kunai, on occasion."

"And do those kunai gleam like that?"

"Yes—" Sakumo admitted, stopping himself uneasily.

"Well! You're the first person in quite some time to show such…such strength. Tell me—has your chakra always appeared so…_white_?"

Sakumo nodded, "Yes sir."

"How early did you begin seeing it?" he asked curiously.

"Well…" Sakumo thought back sheepishly. The awareness began right when his mother had first put him in the Academy. "When I was…five...or six," Sakumo lied, by a couple years, praying he wasn't some freak prodigy.

The Senju was still surprised. "Remarkable. You're extremely powerful. Is anyone in your family ninja?"

Again Sakumo answered with difficulty. "…Yes," he said. He couldn't lie twice, and not to a Senju.

"Who?"

"Hatake Ryouma Saru-Shin; and Hatake Coushander, my father."

"Are they enlisted?"

"No, sir…they've both passed on."

"Oh—I'm very sorry," he said, frowning. "I've never heard their names before, I don't think."

"His uncle, and his father served in a mission to water country," Takato inserted. "I served with them. Thirty-seven years ago, now."

"Oh…" the Senju smiled. "I see. Now that makes sense. Well, then," he said, looking back at Sakumo. "You've got a heck of a well there, young man. I think it would be best if you continued on your own with a blade, of any kind. I'd recommend a tantou. You've got enough power as it is," he smiled. "Remember that terror, is also a form of communication on the front lines. 'If you can create sufficient fear in your enemies, you may not have to fight them.' That was what my father once said to me. It didn't work so well with the Uchiha…but…" the Senju smiled. "I think you'd hold your own even against one of them, what are you coming to me for?" he asked jokingly. "You'll be an exceptional man of skill. A very powerful jounin, at that!"

Feeling both embarrassed, and exposed (even with his mask), Sakumo thanked the man for the lesson, and took leave with Takato—but a young blonde-haired little girl jumped up off the bench—"Oh!" she exclaimed, expecting it to have been her father. She cocked her head at Sakumo. Her father came around the door, "Tsunade, my darling…"

She smiled and stood right by him. "My daughter," he introduced.

Sakumo bowed his head, "Miss Tsunade."

"This is Ichida-san, and Hatake Sakumo."

The young girl's amber-brown eyes scanned them both intensely. "Hello," she said, blushing up at the man with the mask, already familiar with his name.

"Thank you again," Sakumo told her father.

"Not at all; Tsunade are you ready?"

"Yes father."

The two Senju went back into the training room, and the door closed.

"…So?" Takato asked him as they walked outside.

"So…what?"

The older man smiled. "You have a great gift."

Sakumo half-rolled his eyes.

"Don't take it lightly. Don't take it too seriously, either, but be aware of it, and use it. Dalzen was very proud of you—I know your father would be as well. And so would Saru-Shin," Sakumo felt a strong swell of sentiment upon the words. "You have their strength, their stubbornness, and their resilience, and their legacy; I think you're doing extraordinary already. You've come through so much these past three months. You will be a powerful shinobi."

Sakumo smiled faintly to himself. "I will continue, only if they let me come home and work the fields. That is the only thing that matters to me."

And that is exactly, what he did…

**.**

Five years later, on a dawn so cool and clear in August, the twenty men sojourned home after eighteen months spent in conflict and reconnaissance. Mostly conflict. Their captain Hatake led them across the final marsh of Kusa entrails, and into the grass fields, and out again, beyond the borderline and into the dark forest of the land of fire. "I can't believe we're going home," the man, Sousei, said quietly next to him. "I can't believe this is ours…!" Sakumo noticed the young man's gait had improved. Yamanoi Sousei kept his pace fairly even with his shoulders, and stooped little as he walked. The captain smiled to himself, and said nothing. "I'm gonna jump," Rinsano said on his right. "I'm gonna jump, that I am. I've still gotta' jump left in me. I've still got it," Rinsano was their only convalescent recovering from tropical fever. Sakumo had also suffered a horrid relapse of it in the forest green Matadi jungle. Most of the other men had caught it as well, in staggered times. But he and Rinsano were sequestered for six days straight with a little vile of quinine, nearly out, their most precious ally. It was amazing how the genin persevered as he did. Rinsano was a petite young man, a little smaller in height than Sakumo, with a very compact and slim build; a oak leaf could lay on his shoulder, and he would not weigh a grain of sand more. Rinsano was the perfect messenger; he was their best runner. The young man lived with his aunt, in the village, who was, "a very wise and smart lady, that she is; the sweetest smile she'd give to anybody, really…" Kurata, formerly tempered badly towards the young man showed a smile upon his jumpiness and said to him, "I know you do."

Rinsano smiled sheepishly as the man patted his shoulder.

"I will be lost in this enchanted forest, for good."

This quiet voice belonged to the taciturn man in behind Kurata (with whom Kurata had also dis-liked, which wasn't surprising, since the dark-haired man had dis-liked the whole platoon, mainly). He was Uzuki Tsudou, a quiet nature brought out into light the past eight months with cell one. He had a younger brother, in the village, who was a sensei and special jounin.

"Enchanting forest? Oh God, it sounds right," he nodded his head. "Oh it sounds quite right. I'm home, now, walking here," said Ryouta. He was thirty years old, with a wife and child, a baby girl now four years old.

"Magic is in these trees," young Shouhei agreed.

"I bet my initials are in these trees," Suzuka nodded.

"I wonder what my son looks like…" murmured the chuunin Norizou Enoki. A new father.

And so forth on down the line of men they talked and laughed and smiled about seeing their loved ones.

Another dawn passed—

And then one more. Sakumo noticed two hawks flying in the sky, and then flying east, into the calm still of the azure blue sky. Dawn, he appreciated.

As the men walked closer to home, it was dawn that guided them east with a hidden yellow eye of promise. The breath of this still air was ubiquitous with peace in such a wait it permeated the captain's skin as pure and unsullied yet by the bitter fume of war or disease, fever or battle. It suspended not the promise of death, but the eternal promise of life, a gift so small it crept over the blue horizon slowly, taking it's time in an immortal patience with that hope of a golden promise. Brighter light yet filtered through the top boughs of the trees, sending diagonal squalls of white and blue before that yellow that came so faithfully. It held not the look of resignation, but the look of hope, upon that ever faithful warrior, trodding to that battle, or to that home with his laurels and more importantly, his sacred honor. The sun rose, dutifully. Just the same as he, when he traveled back out under it in all the empty places outside his home and heart, where he knew it was required of him to walk, to the end of night, and God willing, back again.

The men came back, that day, August the fourteenth, after eighteen hard months. They came in on the east side, and Sakumo stopped about a mile and a half outside the gate.

Rinsano spoke, "Something wrong, sir?"

Sakumo stayed silent, he watched the pair of beige hawks continue to fly east. He shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "But be aware. There could be something going on in the village."

"I saw them too," murmured one of his men, Ganya.

They walked on.

They were let into the gate by two fence guards, and one of them said, "Go in on the south side, yes, go left, there," he pointed. "A man is waiting to de-brief you."

Sakumo nodded. "Thank you."

They went left, as instructed, and as the twenty men turned down one of the streets, collectively, they stopped: two small tents were set up in the middle of the road with at least forty people gathered around.

"…Obasan!" Rinsano recognized; a blonde-haired woman smiled in front of the pink tent, a sweet and kind smile on her face, waving a blue handkerchief.

Enoki stared; his wife was in the blue tent, holding the baby boy with a full head of brown hair.

Ryouta looked on, awe-struck—his wife and little girl were standing there.

Uzuki Tsudou reunited with his brother.

Yamanoi Sousei met his wife with their only son.

Shouhei grinned upon seeing his niisan, Yohei. Suzuka met his wife, who was standing in between the two tents, a two year old by her side. Ganya met his father, and little sister. Maeda and Tsukayama met their wives. Kobayashi and Hamadou met brothers and uncles. Narita met his mother and sister. Kinjo, Kimura, and Hatsuki were relegated to the blue tent. Mieno and Koga were relegated to the pink tent.

Kurata was the last lonely one to stand by his captain…until he saw a dark haired woman come out of the crowd, calling his name. "Imouto…?" he stared dumbfoundedly.

"Niisan!" she smiled.

He walked forward to her, and she embraced him.

"Hm," Sakumo smiled broadly beneath his mask. He exhaled silently and wiped his forehead; he'd never seen so many happy faces, of course, not since the new hokage was chosen almost three years ago, this month. But thinking of Sarutobi Hizuren, Sakumo could not tear his eyes away to look behind him at the mountainside. His men, his nineteen men were all smiling under the dawn. The captain could feel their joy, it was on their bare, happy faces. Sakumo finally looked down and pulled the little black book from his back pocket. For all the night in that little, slim cover, he was high ready for the warmth of the day in that village. To face it masked, and alone. Sakumo looked back up. He saw some of their wives, overcome with emotion, and the men, too, embracing them. The twenty-five year old felt a prick of emptiness.

He turned around for the mission office, until he heard his name called from the crowd. Sakumo turned and saw a woman with black hair stop and smile—she walked on and embraced him.

They parted, and Sakumo smiled, "Keiko-san."

She held his shoulders, with a crest of emotion in her sparkling eyes, "Oh, Sakumo…"

**.**

He went home that evening, devoid of rank or service: he came home, inspected the house, and then exited the back door and stopped and smiled: a crop of yellow wheat was standing in that first square patch of land, standing decently tall; a slew of weeds and grass behind it. He ran to the garden, and saw the plants had been sowed earlier in the spring. _I'll have to thank her,_ he thought, _and Kosaka-san. I must see him,_ he promised himself. _Tomorrow, I will go and see him…and thank him._ In the meantime, he felt as if it were only his skin keeping him from going everywhere at once. He decided to attend to the garden, first. He spent about an hour on it, putting most things directly in the house. He wasn't sure how long it'd be until another commission would hover over him. Afterwards, he went back outside, and stared at the yellow. _Bless him,_ Sakumo thought again. He ran along beyond it into weed-fields out back, checking the fence, and the land. He went around the entire perimeter, slowing as he went just to admire the land, finding no major damage, or dilapidation. He breathed a sigh of relief. As he came around from the turn, he noticed the two peach trees were growing hideously, as usual. He laughed to himself, there were a collective total of about five green-yellow balls that were still attached to the tree. One year, his father was out there, alone, and he was talking to himself, as he usually did, threatening to cut down both the trees in a very seriously toned way. The next year, both trees produced yields unseen before. Since then, every year, his father and now Sakumo joined in the destructive chorus of thought whenever the trees were being excessively moody. "Guess I'm going to have to cut you down, you poor miserable thing…"

Sakumo came back up, through the extended garden with it's fence, checking to be sure there were no holes in the link fence. Rabbits and other animals were problem enough. He went around, turning left, and looked on at Zosha's empty paddock, west of the creek, just to the right of the house. A family of bats had found a home up in the pitch of the old open-shed. Sakumo moved on up towards the house. He was about to go back in, when he stopped and looked behind him. He decided to sit on the back porch beside the empty table, and watch the night. The wheat was most yellow now, and it was turned almost a lavender color by way of the darkness and moonlight. Sakumo could spot a few odd patches of green, and he remembered his father's story about the land and the scythe he got from an old man—Sakumo grinned tiredly. He looked down on his left and forced himself to get up. He got the radio and the extension cord, and set the grey rectangular box on the table. Two narrow and thin strips pf beige masking tape stuck on the long dial of the frequencies, marking two different stations. He tested it and turned it on—static pitched from the speakers jumbled with a voice. Sakumo moved the dial minutely on the frequency under the first tape until the voice came through. It was the top of the hour—eleven p.m…the country's news. Sakumo smiled again, and switched it off after six minutes.

In the morning, he reported to the office for more fun hours of briefing on his journal and notes, and decided to take a week that was coming to him. By afternoon, he was assailed by the map men in reference to his drawings of areas of the mottled Kusa interior, on the west side, near tsuchi, which was nothing less than matted hell, and a strange case of a disappearing river on two accounts, including one note made by his own sensei. He sorted it out with them (to some extent; the east tributary oddly moved ten meters to the left), and Dalzen's version turned out to be the most accurate. Before evening, he was able to escape, and headed first to Keiko's home in hopes of seeing Jiraiya, before he set out to see Kosaka and his family, on the complete opposite side of town, outside the village. The older woman had been silent as to his little brother's whereabouts. And she was older now, Sakumo noticed. She was fifty-nine, and still, she dyed her hair the color it was, like in the picture in wave country. Sakumo crossed down the lane towards five o-clock and went up to the house, lowering his mask, and he knocked on the door. He was surprised to see Ichida Takato answer—Sakumo came in and saw her sitting on the sofa, looking sullen, she looked up, and half-smiled. "Is there something wrong?" Sakumo asked her.

"Oh Sakumo," She had a tissue wrapped around her hand, and she bowed her head, staring at it, "I'm so glad you're home."

Takato re-took his seat and Sakumo looked on, "Where's Jiraiya?"

He distressed her in an instant—she closed her eyes and she hesitated. "I—I was hoping you might talk to him," she looked up. "Please talk to him, he might listen to you."

"Where is he?"

"In the tree house."

"Is he there now?"

She shrugged—but he noticed Takato nod.

"…All right. Shall I go now?"

"Please," she said—she wore neither a smile, nor frown.

Sakumo nodded, and left the home. He crossed the lane, and walked through the field of grass, having a brief second of déjà vu.

The tree house was built four years ago, in between missions, the idea, of course, originating with his little brother. Sakumo had used the scraps of wood from the shed that had no use to anyone—they were old boards from the fence, and a few old ones taken off the deck, which his father had replaced, and then kept the boards just to have. The fort had been a dream of Jiraiya's ever since he'd known the special tree. It stood nestled in the forest (in village-owned property, of course), standing like a person does, with two arms extended outward, with a sucker that had sprouted at the base, extending up between the two dark brown branches. And Sakumo admitted, it was a perfect place to construct it. The tree was a very old and tall one; there were a couple wooden slats nailed on the sucker to climb up, which were mainly just for show since Jiraiya could easily use his chakra to climb the tree himself. The house was a good size too, and Sakumo had made sure it would be sound to sit there for as long as his younger brother kept the imaginative interest alive to use it. It had three old and small glass windows, two on each side, and a small one on the trunk side, and it was complete with a roof of antiquated green shingles also residing in the old shed. Sakumo walked under the structure, and looked up through the square hole around the brown sucker. "Jiraiya?"

After a moment, Jiraiya looked down though the hole, "Sakumo…"

"Hey," Sakumo smiled, "May I come up?"

"Oh—sure. You're back…"

Sakumo climbed up, and stood on the floor, looking around at the house. It was painted white inside, tinted with a warm yellow, as Jiraiya's mother insisted, making it look like a room in an attic. There was a small cot set up on the trunk-side wall in front of him, behind the brown limb (which extended all the way up through the ceiling). And on that cot sat his brother, a very tall fourteen year old, with his hair cut around his face, a little like the way their father's had been, but Jiraiya had a wisp of a ponytail in back—like Sakumo's now, since he neglected to cut it the past three years. There were a few articles of clothes—a green vest hung on the side of the cot, and a magazine laid on the sheet. The one cubby-shelf that once held the knickknacks of scavenger finds was dusty. A small notepad still sat upon the shelf, along with a pencil, and a pen. There was a small calendar that hung beneath the window on the right hand side, showing a view of the mountainside.

"When did you get back?"

"Yesterday—What's going on with your mother?"

Jiraiya rolled his eyes and leaned back against the cream wall on the cot and folded his arms. "What did she say?"

"Just to talk to you—what's going on?"

"Course…You wouldn't know," Jiraiya said with a hint of obduracy in his voice. "You've been _gone._"

"I know…" Sakumo returned obviously, "So, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

The teen's silence was obscure—Sakumo didn't know if he was sensing anger, or neglect—probably both. "Are you—Did you have a fight with her?"

"She kicked me out of the house."

Sakumo blinked, "What did you do?"

Jiraiya made eyes again and changed his position; he drew up his feet and took back the magazine under his knees. "What do you care." The tone of his voice did not mean it as a question.

Sakumo took a moment to accept his brother's unfounded temper. "Well…I'm very sorry I was gone for eighteen months, protecting your liberty," Sakumo calmly apologized. "Perhaps next time I'll just stay home, and let the iwa cell come in on the west side. We could throw a party instead."

Jiraiya's intense black eyes looked away.

"What is this about."

"_Nothing_," Jiraiya muttered. "I'm old enough to go out on my own."

The short statement provided all the paths of deduction Sakumo needed, and then some. "Doing what, exactly?" he offered another chance to explain.

"You know."

Sakumo let loose a quick, and hopeless smile, "No, I don't know," Jiraiya stayed silent, and looked down at his magazine. Sakumo felt like sighing. "When I was fourteen, I was in Suna," he said, staring at his brother, who would not meet that stare. "A crazed man, Zensare, had destroyed a temple."

"So."

The responses were aggravating.

"Have you been neglecting your duty?"

"No."

"You've been…'going out'?"

Jiraiya nodded.

"Where?"

Jiraiya shrugged.

"Where," Sakumo pursued him with a stern tone.

"Nowhere."

"I can see that via your creative answers—" Jiraiya glared at him. "Don't look at me like that. Do you have any idea how much you've upset your mother?"

"She's _old,"_ Jiraiya put full emphasis across the adjective.

Sakumo looked at him; his otouto stared at his knees. "She is your _mother_, Jiraiya. If you don't have respect for her, you don't have respect for anything. She has raised you. She has cared for you. And I have tried to be there for you every chance I can. What more do you want?"

Jiraiya kept silent.

"Well…think about it. I'll come by again tomorrow."

"Sakumo—Wait," Sakumo looked at him, and Jiraiya kept his gaze just above his knees—"I'm glad you're back."

He smiled faintly. "If you want to stop by, I'll be home, this week."

Jiraiya said nothing.

**.**

The next day, Sakumo came by at six o'clock, and found his brother eating soba noodles on the cot—Jiraiya looked up, and then he returned his attention to his dinner. "Are you in a mood to tell me anything else?" his elder brother asked.

Jiraiya seemed to think for a moment, and then he bent over and picked up a mauve plastic container underneath the bed. He set it atop the sheets and opened it, and sifted under a few magazines and notebooks—the fourteen year old produced a folded newspaper article and held it out for his ani.

Sakumo took it and scanned it over, it was dated earlier that year in May; he read on the left side:

_**A Shinobi's World  
**__Winning Youth Essay submitted by Kano Jiraiya, fourteen years old, entitled:_

_'__**To the End of the Night'**_

Sakumo read the essay silently, and smiled heartwarmingly as he read the final line; _And though despair was prevalent through many days of his years, it was not his concluding opinion, nor his failing; too much good had been born from that suffering._

He looked on, "That's amazing."

Jiraiya shrugged indifferently, though stealing a look at his brother's face.

"I mean, that's awesome—you're very good."

"I won twenty-five dollars."

Sakumo smiled, "Could I keep this?"

"Sure. My mother has about ten."

"You're a natural. You like writing?"

He shrugged again, looking down at his black tray.

"Well," Sakumo said, re-folding the paper slowly. "I'm sorry I was gone. But hey; I don't want to be an enemy with you."

"It's ok," he half-apologized. "I know how important you are. It's just…I get scared, if you don't come back."

Sakumo smiled to himself. "I'm sure treated well when I do make it back," He looked at his younger brother and watched his younger brother's glare transform into near-tears. Jiraiya eyes welled over his red stripes and he looked away. "I don't blame you," Sakumo sighed. "If I could change the world, I would. But it's been dealt this way, and we must fight," He looked down at the folded yellow paper. "There's no other way. And I would much rather be out there than you."

A silence entered the fort, and Jiraiya glanced at his older brother, looking upon him as defined by his title, a jounin, and fully fledged captain, an important and powerful shinobi everyone around him knew, at least by name, if not by sight. Jiraiya swallowed, "Don't you get scared?"

"All the time," he answered calmly.

Jiraiya looked up at him again, but there was no fear, nor trepidation on his brother's face. Sakumo was both calm, and very taciturn. He was also soft-spoken when Jiraiya could treat him with respect... "What was it like?" Jiraiya wondered. "In Kusa, in the west."

Sakumo leaned away from the wall and sat on the edge of the cot, opposite his brother. "In the east, it's rather nice, like that field out there. In the west, it would be wise to have a bottle of quinine with you and the Holy Bible."

Jiraiya's face loosened into a grin, and then it faded quickly to match his niisan's faint smile. "Remember you told me about training with the _kaeru_ summons at Myoboku?" Jiraiya nodded. "Well," Sakumo thought, "It was a little like that. It was like feeling too small, in one area. It was huge."

"And…the battle?"

"Fever is a devil," Sakumo informed.

"No, I mean…" Jiraiya stopped himself, realizing his ani may not have wanted to speak of it, but Jiraiya watched him flash a brief smile—"I know what you meant," Sakumo said. "But the worst part was the fever, I think. Trying to lead a cell with sick men, dying men…myself no better. But we survived. And the battle…perhaps that was the easy part."

"Sure, for you," Jiraiya said. "Did you…catch fever?"

Sakumo stared at the wall. "Most of us did, in shifts," he nodded.

Jiraiya looked down. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Well," he said numbly, "It's in the past now," Sakumo looked at his brother. "You've been writing?" he asked him again.

He shrugged "Oh, it was just a dumb contest."

"You've got a great talent. It was too good for just a contest."

Jiraiya smiled.

Sakumo gazed upon his brother's young face. Jiraiya's intense dark eyes and brow reminded him very much of the boy's mother. The teen was very tall for his age, and lean, unlike Rinsano. He wore the indigo clothes, but a short kimono robe replaced his vest. It was navy with white trim. His temper was the most unpredictable thing about him, Sakumo had noticed even before this episode. The ani was reprimanded every time he came back, for failing to be with his brother like Jiraiya wanted him to be. But Jiraiya was growing into a very intelligent young man, and extraordinarily perceptive in view of his winning essay. Sakumo couldn't blame him—Jiraiya was growing broad shoulders, and with that, a broader view of mind, mostly trapped in his own youthful turmoil and confusion. Those odd years of adolescence were full of that sort of thing. "So," Sakumo looked at him, "How long are you going to stay out here?"

The teen grunted something—Sakumo smiled. "I will go with you, to apologize," he offered. The boy's head turned. "It's not hard," Sakumo said.

"…Would you?"

Sakumo nodded. "But you'll be the one apologizing."

"…I know," he said.

**.**

Later that night, after mother and son were reunited, Sakumo went out into town, after he checked back to his own home. It was nine o'clock now, and highly unusual of him to try something like this. It was probably ironic his brother was caught going out on his own, and now Sakumo caught himself in the very same act. But in truth, the reunion he witnessed upon the homecoming was something he could not (and would not) ever erase from his memory. Many of the men in his team had wives and children; family. And through all his dedication to this shinobi world, he had no time, nor interest to form a relationship of his own with anyone but his father's field, Jiraiya, his step-mother, and Kosaka's family. He wasn't altogether sure if he had the interest now, but in his age-appropriate case, it couldn't hurt to look. So Sakumo walked down through the village, recognizing the shops and places again, until he felt he was becoming stared at by the shop-keepers and other ninja out on the streets. He noticed ahead of time a fellow captain he knew who was an extremely loud, boisterous man. Sakumo actually felt it necessary to duck into a tavern near the shinobi offices at the last second, feeling more out of place inside, than out.

The bar was a little more than half-filled, and some of the men nodded to him as they recognized him. Most of them were genin, and chuunin. Sakumo nodded back, and then blinked in sudden confusion as he saw the absolute _last_ person he expected to see in a place like this: young Rinsano. Sakumo walked over as he saw the young man wave with a lopsided smile. "Rinsano, what are you…" Sakumo stopped before the booth and saw dark-haired Kurata with a bottle of alcohol. "Captain!" Kurata exclaimed affably. "Please! Join us! We're having fun, aren't we little Rin?"

Rinsano's head bobbed up and down to the supposition, and he looked up at Sakumo. "Kurata has been teaching me…how to put _whiskey_ in my _words_, sir, that he is. Will you partake?"

"No…I'm sorry," Sakumo felt extreme sorrow for Rin, in questionable care of Kurata. Even after the captain and his men witnessed the remarkable change in the dark-haired man from a cold loner to more contented one, Kurata was still Kurata, and Sakumo didn't put it past him to show Rin this good time by his standards.

"Captain, what're you doing in here anyway?" Kurata asked with a curious dark-eyed stare.

"Nothing important…" Sakumo looked around for some excuse. He was surprised again, he found. Apparently all of his compatriots were in these places after hours. Sakumo's eyes settled on the front bar of the tavern, where two rather large men sat on stools near a young girl with honey-blonde hair—she was no waitress. And their speech was for no orders. "Excuse me, gentlemen…" Sakumo came closer, leaving Rin and Kurata—he knew he recognized the young Senju girl. The lady did a double-take as she glanced back, seeing the shinobi. "Oh!" she said, expectancy in her warm brown eyes. One of the men recognized Sakumo as well, by sight—"Shi…Shi…Shiroi…Kiba…"

"Arigatou," Tsunade whispered, and she slipped away, toward the front entrance. Sakumo eyed the men; they silenced instantly, and pretended to find something more interesting looking back at them in their clear liquid. The Hatake turned and followed the young lady, and they walked out in tandem. Tsunade turned as she exited, "Thank you," she said again. "I was about to pulverize those guys."

Sakumo smiled to himself. "I don't know what exactly you were doing in a place like that, but I'll gladly walk you back home."

Her smiled widened in surprise, "Really? Oh, thank you!" she led the way eagerly, and said, "My father had a note for the owner, and as I came back out…well…"

He was surprised to hear the girl's voice. She was no longer a child. It deepened another notch since he last remembered seeing her. The girl was already fifteen now, with a very mature figure and frame, but she wasn't tall yet. Sakumo had seen her and Jiraiya before he left. Sakumo kept his gaze ahead of him as he walked, but he was aware the girl was glancing up at him often. "Welcome back, to the village, sir."

"Oh—thank you; and please, you can just call me Sakumo."

A deep blush crept over her pink cheeks. Tsunade quieted, half-expecting him to pick up the conversation, though knowing full well the quiet of his nature. She was very perceptive of him—and also fond of him, whether he knew it or not. So after a moment, with much time to spare as they walked, she said casually, "I believe my sensei was hoping to speak with you, when you got back."

"Oh—yes," Sakumo said. "I did speak with him…I told him before ten years, they'll try and carve _his_ face on the mountainside. He's been doing a wonderful job. It seems…only Iwa has gone mad, as with a few Kusa men…Well. It's over now," he said, wanting to put it behind him, if possible.

She glanced up, feeling a short simplicity in his war-weary words, unlike any other ninja she knew who was taller than herself, without a mouth as wide as the mountain line. Of course she compared him to Jiraiya, who was trying to win her heart only through the most facetious means, that annoyed her to no ends. When she first met the young boy, he was too delusional and sycophantic, expecting a secret childish love letter from her two days later…Though she had seen Jiraiya and Sakumo together frequently, the Hatake man was not like this. Sakumo was mature, and so much stronger than her goofy teammate. Her sensei had become hokage, but Sakumo's name had become widespread and commonplace in the almost the same amount of time; it was incredible. Hatake Sakumo, the man of the white lightning her father had a session with once, and Hatake Sakumo, the white fang of Konoha. He held power, incarnate, and yet she observed he addressed himself and others with such quiescence and reserve. It was unfathomable. And she pretended to understand it.

"Thank you," Tsunade said awkwardly, after the silence permeated her too long.

"…For what?"

"For doing what you do," she said.

Sakumo was unsure how to respond to her. "Well…it is in the job description," he said with a faint and furtive smile. That smile soon vanished thought, as he thought back to the damp innards of Kusa, along the border with tsuchi. Even though he had a curious habit of calling it 'in the past now', Sakumo remembered with vivid imagery the pale and sweating faces of his men infected with the tropical devil they knew by first name basis; their faces gave just cause to his words when he spoke with his brother in the tree house. All the captain wanted _was_ his supply of quinine, and the Holy Bible. Sakumo shuddered, not out of cold, but from the distant tremors and the distant hopes of jump left in him to see them well, and to see them out of that dammed dark green landslide of sordid creatures and messy jungle. Not even Sarin's forest could compare to that hell, which was saying something. "It's in the past now," he murmured, and convinced himself he put end to it as he tried to picture his home, and what all else he had to do yet.

Sakumo saw her back to her home, and before she went in, Tsunade thanked him again over the sound of crickets chirping in the short grass. "It's no problem," he said.

"Um—actually," she said, flushing, "I was hoping I might…see you again."

"…What do you mean?"

"Well—um," Tsunade gathered all courage available in her lioness eyes; "I like you. I'd just…like to see you again, that's all."

Sakumo began to have a faint notion as to what she was implying. "Lady Tsunade…" he said gently, "I'm not sure that's appropriate."

"Oh but—" she looked down. "Please? We could just walk, like tonight. I really don't mean anything," she said honestly, "I just thought…"

From the way her cheeks rosed, Sakumo could sense her thoughts. He tried not to smile, not that she would see it anyway. He wasn't aware he presence had that effect on her. It was embarrassing, and strange, among other things, and he nearly felt like entertaining her inclination for her sake—the last he wanted to do was to give her more teenage grief. _What is it about this age group,_ he wondered to himself. What an odd, inexplicable point in time…: "I know," he said, without really knowing. "But I'm not sure that's wise…I am ten years older than you. I'm just not sure that's wise."

Though she tried to hide it, her disappointment lowered her head—"Well, um…if you change your mind…I'd still like your company; that's all…"

After a moment, Sakumo nodded, "I'll…keep that in mind. Thank you, for asking…You're a very sweet girl, Tsunade. You could spend time with those your own age, they'll be a whole lot more talkative than I could ever be."

Tsunade merely smiled awkwardly at being misunderstood, and then she gave a quick nod.

"Goodnight, Lady Tsunade."

She nodded again, "Goodnight."

He walked back south, passing through the trio of memorials so near the Senju home. He was preoccupied with the strange incident and interest young Tsunade had for him; he tried to guess where it could have culminated, but he could think of nothing, no promises of roses or dinner-dates…Sakumo shook his head of the odd smile. And then he backed up to think more seriously on the matter—suppose Tsunade were his own age; what then? What made him think he could ever hope to open up to anyone—let alone a woman of that sort. Lord knows how dangerous those creatures were… "Please, tell me how you met mom," he remembered begging once, a long, long time ago. He was only _curious._

His father hesitated and turned away, stacking his bills on the wooden slat, turning away from her picture. "…We grew up together," he said quietly. "Why do you ask?"

"Cause I want to know," his seven year old self said as unobtrusive as he could.

"Sakumo, you're far too precocious. I hope you know that," his father began to dodge the subject.

Sakumo stared…"What does…'precocious', mean?"

"It means…" he was about to tell the boy to be quiet and go to bed, but Coushander sighed. "Nothing." He looked at one final envelope and put it in the slot, in front, for the morning to sour the bright dawn.

"Are those bills?" Sakumo asked.

Coushander looked down solemnly. "Sakumo, go unplug the radio and bring it in, would you?"

Sakumo rose up with a quick thud in his heart. He teetered off and did as he was told. When the young boy came back to his father's room, Coushander was sitting on the low shindai on the floor, a grey paper was in his hands: it was the four page newsletter from his Thursday night meetings. About the only thing he ever got out of it, he supposed. He always burned it for compost. Sakumo walked in the room, sensing no objection from his father, verbal or otherwise—the young boy went all the way up to him and sat there beside him. After a moment, Coushander's left arm came around, and he held his boy's shoulder with that badly scarred hand. Sakumo laid his head on his father's chest, listening to the silent acoustics of the room, and listening eagerly, for the rain they knew was coming. Coushander lowered the leaflet idly—he wasn't reading it anymore, not that he ever had been. "She was…beautiful," his father said, with something caught in his throat. "In every sense of the word. And she was sweet and gentle," he smiled to himself, "Just like you are. We were next-door neighbors. Childhood friends."

"Did you play down in that little ravine?"

His father winced. "No—I mean yes, I mean—Don't ask me anymore questions, boy…" Coushander withdrew his arm, and little Sakumo sat back up on his own. "I'm sorry," the boy apologized.

Coushander winced again. "No…I'm sorry. It's not something I talk about, you know that. Now, go on, get ready for bed, I'll be there in a minute…"

Again (but very reluctantly) he did as he was told. He was staring out through the blinds of the window in his pajamas when his father came in; Sakumo was trying to see their speckled grey horse roaming the night. Coushander smiled, "Is he out there?"

"Yeah—he's in his shed."

"That's where you should be."

Sakumo left the window and climbed into his bed. He watched his father's arms carry the sheets upon him—"Otoussan," he wondered quietly, "…You can play those bills…right?"

"...Of course," he was little surprised by the question. "Sure. We're doing just fine," Coushander kissed his son's forehead and thought nothing else of his son's doubt, but on his own. His fields were in a mess. He needed the rain as much as he needed a kick on his shin.

**.**

Early the next morning, Sakumo went into the village, not to recreate last night's self-made folly, but he walked towards the west side, instead of going up through the town to Keiko's home. The river flowed on the south-west end of Konohagakure; he crossed a wooden bridge over the small stream of blue, and went northwest, toward that household. It was a quiet Sunday morn…: Jiraiya was still sleeping.

"He is…?" Sakumo flashed a smile.

She nodded. "That's a teenager for you."

"Well, I was hoping to get him to come with me to visit our father's grave—would you come…?"

"Oh—no…" she shook her head, gazing down. "That's a nice idea. No, you two go ahead. That would be good, for both of you."

**.**

Jiraiya yawned.

"You don't get up early anymore, do you…?" Sakumo observed. It was now ten a.m. His younger brother sighed as they went out the gates on the east side. "So?"

"It used be mysterious," Sakumo smiled, _you used to orchestrate it,_ he thought to himself, wondering where that rambunctious five year old went. Probably upon the roof of the hokage tower by now after stealing the hokage's hat…

Jiraiya shrugged. "Yeah," he said apathetically.

"How are you getting along with your mother?"

He moved his shoulders again indifferently. "Ok."

Sakumo smiled openly at him. He did not have to look far down—the top of his brother's head was near his own shoulders. "Don't be so difficult, Jiraiya, she wants the best for you."

His younger brother rolled his eyes touchily. "I don't need _you_ to lecture me."

"I'm not. I'm only trying—"

"Yes you are, you start this every single time you come back, like you know what's best. You're always on her side. It's not fair, you don't even know me. Half the time, I feel like an only child. I'm no good to anyone," Jiraiya stopped his feet angrily as anger roiled in him. "I barely even knew otoussan, this is stupid—"

"Jiraiya…"

The two looked at each other tensely.

Mood swings…there's a teenager for you. Sakumo recognized it—no wonder Keiko-san didn't feel to intrude. Jiraiya's anger lay there now unrepressed in front of him. He probably woke up on the wrong side of his bed; his room was even big enough to do so unlike Sakumo's old room had been. So Sakumo responded the only way he could—"I'm sorry Jii—what do you want me to do?"

After a brief moment, Jiraiya turned on his brother and spat, "Stop calling me 'Jii'. Stop lecturing me, and stay out of my life!"

Sakumo's left eye winced—his brother marched back toward the gate in a huff. The ani stood there until he saw there was no chance of Jiraiya's return: the fourteen year old disappeared back into the village. Sakumo exhaled, and continued on foot. Who knew coming back would be so incredibly hard…

**.**

The owner, for the past nine years, was a man in his middle thirties living with his wife; he was the grandson of a woman Sakumo's mother used to work for who owned a flower shop. The man worked in town, in Midori, and the main field in front of the house was now a field of flowers. Even as Sakumo wasn't intimately familiar with the land, it was still a strange sight to see in place of the typical red or yellow wheat. There were rows of gladiolas now and rose bushes only now as the years passed, looking full and green as they should. The bushes were now all that leaf color. It was past bloom season.

The Mihure household where his mother had grown up across the ravine was passed to the progeny of Mihure's younger brother. There was a family living there now. Sakumo met them now and then, and his relationship now with the people of both houses was merely friendly, and nothing more.

Sakumo spent at least an hour there to hisself, with the grave, and with that mysterious moss-filled water. Large and small dragonflies were busy navigating it now, carrying on the tradition of the children who once played there so long ago. Catfish and frogs swam beneath the surface. He walked all along the south side of it. Nothing was changed.

The shinobi returned to the village by four o'clock in the afternoon, and instinctively went back to Keiko's house. He crossed onto the lane and first, coming in from the west side, his eyes scanned the field on his left; he could sense his brother's chakra. Sakumo moved through the wall of trees and saw his brother collapse on the grass. The ani briskly jogged to his side—Jiraiya wasn't totally exhausted. The otouto stared up in surprise. He did not try to get up. Jiraiya lied there and turned his eyes away, steadying his breath. He let the kunai in his right hand unclasp loosely—Sakumo looked to his left and noticed care patches of sod as if some intense chakra had been released there, and the ground had been disheveled by constant running. "…Hello," Sakumo greeted.

"What," Jiraiya growled.

For a brief moment, Sakumo felt angry himself. His well of patience was not infinite. Sakumo did not move. "I'm not trying to be the bad guy, you know. I don't even look like an iwa ninja."

Jiraiya rolled over and rose up on his knees. "So just stop lecturing me."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are! And you do it every single time you come back from somewhere."

"Well then. Maybe you were afraid of getting caught, and then getting called on it."

Jiraiya's black eyes flashed pseudo-indignantly, but his ani continued, staring him down; "You may not pretend to care what your mother says, but you must still care what I say. Jiraiya I am not trying to tell you what to do, but you will have to grow up at some point and show some respect for those around you."

Jiraiya revolted, "I don't care—You go away all the time—I _never_ see you," he said angrily, "You always go away—I _am_ an only child. I hate this—I hate _you,"_ The fourteen year old turned and ran toward the north tree line.

Sakumo was about to call after him, but the breath did not leave his mouth, and his muscles did not move. He looked down at the grass, and then the black kunai his brother left there on the ground, as if it were some giant pointed bug. Sakumo turned with a frustration in his clouded mind. He went into town, toward the hokage tower with a heavy feeling lodged deep in his chest. He pulled up his collar, turned his mouth into a straight line, and came into the mission's office, crossing that old concrete with obdurate poise Jiraiya had infected on him.

Since the crises of the divide five years ago, he was cleared to take on the highest ranking assignments, which usually, like the events of the divide, involved a certain level of mortal peril at the extremes, at best. After five years, it did not bother him anymore. The feeling of cheating death lessoned—his life so far to this moment was something more like cheating life; he couldn't seem to socialize properly, he wasn't a hero in the eyes of his younger brother, and his father's field still stood empty like an explosion had decimated it, where nothing would grow now for the next ten generations. It was only on Kosaka's genuine kindness some normalcy had returned for one brief season and one small plot on returned to stand yellow for all the dreams that were promised there. Perhaps the Providence of that event was some kind of mercy to him, he wasn't sure. He'd just wanted to stare at until the end of time. And perhaps he was simply destined for this life of mission after mission, sowing and harvesting, seeding and storing. Sakumo took out the small key in his pocket and opened the middle drawer of the metal filing cabinet in the vacant and small chief officer's lounge. He stood there and sifted through the yellow folders—the most recent caught his eye. Usually high-ranked assignments were years old due to obvious reasons. The level of jounin required to carry them out were scarce, at best. Since the divide, he and other carried out assignments like that. Subsequently, he grew a reputation wide as the sea with all the ninja of his village, and many abroad. He took no pride from it. Nor was it a laurel of his. His private life mattered to him far more than that emptiness.

Sakumo picked out the most recent folder—it'd been filed three days ago as a priority mission. He began reading, and he inwardly gaped in dumb-founded surprise: it was for a letter, to be delivered by the land of fire's head daimyo. The letter was bound for a close nephew of his, in water country.

Sakumo took out the folder and went to see who was in the hokage's tower.

He went in to the building and using his sense, he led himself towards an office on the far end, north side, and he knocked on the door, already knowing who was inside.

Homura, however, opened the door with an astonished look on his face, "…Sir!"

"I'm very sorry to intrude…" Sakumo looked at Hizuren seated behind a desk.

"Sakumo," Sarutobi smiled, "Please, come in. What is it?"

Sakumo held the folder up as he walked towards the desk. "What's this about a letter to water country?"

"Oh—yeah. We got that a few days ago…"

"Did anyone pick it up?"

"No, not yet. We were going to scramble a team for that, I think…I thought you were going to take the week off," Hizuren smiled oddly.

Sakumo looked down at the folder. "Not anymore…I think I've found something to do. I'll deliver it myself."

He left early the next morning, without telling a soul.

**.**

That evening, Jiraiya went over with nothing less than a peace offering in his arms: rhubarb pie. He wasn't planning on speaking, or staying, or even looking at his niisan when Sakumo would open the door and smile silently, making his otouto feel something less of a man with that wall of pride and selfishness in Jiraiya's mind. But he knocked…

And no one answered…

**.**

The next day, Jiraiya went to see his sensei on his own time. His sensei now trained their group of three only three days a week, due to his other priorities as lead ninja. Jiraiya walked in the main office of the hokage tower and watched his sensei writing on some papers. The fourteen year old cleared his throat—he knocked twice on the inside of the door frame.

His sensei looked up and smiled, "Jiraiya, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Please."

Jiraiya exhaled and walked towards the desk, "D-Do you know if Sakumo took a mission?"

Sarutobi regarded the boy, and leaned back in his chair. "He did."

"Did he?!" Jiraiya exclaimed in surprise, "What? Are you sure?!"

"He left yesterday morning. I know…quite sudden."

"W-What…Why…?"

Sarutobi shrugged. "He didn't reveal his reasons to me…But, I do know his mission will take about…mm…eight, ten days, barring anything."

A slow and creeping guilt moved under the teen's skin, similar to goosebumps: _I hate you, _he'd said cruelly. Jiraiya shuddered. "Is it…an easy mission…?" he wondered aloud, trying to insert some shred of indifference in his voice.

Hizuren hesitated. "It's an A-rank."

Jiraiya's jaw dropped—he turned his head right to face the door.

"I would have thought Sakumo would have stayed home for a while. He said he was going to…" Hizuren watched his student carefully. "Lord knows he sure deserved it…Did he say anything to you?"

Jiraiya instantly shook his head—"No."

Hizuren observed a guilty look on that striped face.

**.**

Jiraiya confessed—"Sakumo is out on a mission."

She paused stacking dried glasses in her cupboard—"Where?"

He shook his head, "I don't know."

"…Why?"

Jiraiya's brow furrowed—"Because of me. It's my fault."

"…Sweetheart," she said after a moment, "He wouldn't have gone just because you wouldn't go with him to—"

"No. He went because I told him…I…hated him…" After a while, Jiraiya looked up shame-faced, "It's my fault," he confessed. "_I_ told him to leave. It's my fault he left."

"Oh…" she said after a moment. He looked down at the tiles on the countertop. "You can't treat Sakumo with such little respect…he's a human being too, you know. Sakumo…He knows what he's doing. He would never be angry with you…Upset, yes, but angry, no."

Jiraiya stared at the counter sullenly. "I just—I just get so angry, so frustrated. What if—But what if he doesn't come back?" he asked, with a thud of fear in his heart.

"He'll come back."

"How do you know?"

"Because he loves you. And he can forgive. And so can I."

Jiraiya looked down. "But…I really…exploded at him…really."

"There is nothing either of you could say to each other that would change the bond you have," his mother said. Kano sighed, "But…just try and keep in mind…Sakumo was on his own for eighteen months straight…try and have some patience next time. He _needs_ company more than anything else…and you're the right one to give it to him," she looked at her son. She smiled. "It'll be all right. Don't worry."

Jiraiya couldn't argue. She was right. And he also prayed it would be as she said.

He got off the stool and walked towards the open door—"Hey, where are you going?"

"To the field. I just want to be alone."

She cast him an anxious look.

"I promise," he said, "I'll just be in the field."

After a moment, she nodded. "Be careful."

**.**

Bouncing off the clear of the night sky was Jiraiya's dark stare: he began searching the clear of stars in the night, looking for the shining ones of the north. It was a silly, and absurd thing one of them was a man, a shepherd, and yet, after a moment in time, Jiraiya lay staring up at the wayfaring flock, stuck on that big mountain in the sky. Jiraiya watched them. _Isn't there some way you and him could be together?_ he thought hopelessly.

"…Hm," he stared after a while. "I'm sorry, Sakumo," Jiraiya transferred his gaze from the shepherd to the sheep, and back again. _Where did you go?_

**.**


	34. A Field of Dreams

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 34  
_**A Field of Dreams**_

**.**

**.**

Four days later, on a dreary Saturday morning, she caught her son in the hallway of their home, "Oh Jiraiya, come out here, I want to show you something."

"…Why am I so tired?" he grumbled in the kitchen with his eyes half-closed. He took a seat on the stool and folded his arms on the counter. He would have lowered his head on his forearms had she not pushed the paper in front of him.

"It's because you're growing, sweetie. Look at this," she opened the paper and pointed to an article on the inside second page.

He grumbled again, mainly just in protest.

"Oh just look," she smiled at him.

Jiraiya looked down and read the top headline of the page, "Konohagakure must have new street-lights," It was an editorial. "Mom, how is that—"

"No, silly, down there," she pointed.

"Oh," Jiraiya looked again and read to himself, _**Stories Wanted**__—The annual seventh district's 'Why I Love Konoha' short story contest will begin accepting stories written by youths to answer the question in a show of pride and love for their land in short story form. The youth categories are divided by age and will offer prizes such as having their story published in the paper; the categories are divided by age: 7 through 10, 11 through 14, and 15 to 18. The contest is open to all those in the northeast corner (including those in the shinobi village) and a top prize will be awarded each by region, and national. The deadline is October 3__rd__, please complete and mail entries to…_

"…Well?" his mother beamed.

Jiraiya groaned.

"Oh please think about it," she smiled.

"Mfph," he uttered noncommittally. "…Is it raining out?" He was more interested in the weather.

"Yes—what were you going to do today? Clean your room maybe…?" she hinted with a steely look in her eye.

"Um—train," he blurted. "I need to train. I can do that later."

"Training…" she repeated tiredly, moving towards the sink.

He smiled—"I can go inside, in one of the training halls."

"Well…all right."

Keiko turned around and wondered how much her boy was like his uncle, or Coushander, for that matter, until she remembered his limited knowledge of ninjutsu, so she smiled, her boy must have been like his uncle, when Saru first learned.

**.**

Instead of the training hall, Jiraiya went for the tree house, dodging raindrops as he ran out the lane as if he were going into town in case his mother should be watching from the window, and then he turned left for about a hundred meters, and then he scurried back into the treeline of the forest. He skipped over tree roots and over puddles, mushrooms and grass, and ran through the maze in an unseen flash, fast as he could, knowing the way by heart. He reached the old tree, and climbed up the sucker and hopped through the cut out. Large raindrops beaded off the leaves and plunked the roof with a noticeable, soothing sound. He stood on the floor, catching his breath, standing alone in a place of his own. He liked that feeling. Now and then, a stray raindrop fell through the canopy and through the ring-hole in the roof where the circular limb protruded. Jiraiya was not concerned; he felt as if he were the only man for miles. He sat himself on the cot and looked around the room. His guilt, by now, was deeply rooted like the tree behind him. He knew he'd been unfair. He knew he was wrong. Jiraiya sighed heavily, knowing that wherever his elder brother was, Sakumo was far away, at the younger brother's own command. _I didn't mean it,_ he thought gloomily.

Jiraiya bent over and picked up the mauve plastic container and he sat Indian-style on the cot, pulling out the contents—he was going to sift through a few adventure comics, when he noticed his blank notebooks sitting underneath. Jiraiya pulled out the grey one. It held the first draft of the essay he submitted back in May. It also held the one or two paragraph beginnings of other musings he considered excessively dumb, and not worth expanding upon. It also held two or three verses of poetry, of all things. He did not bother to relive the mood he was in when he wrote those classical blunders. Time and again, he turned his nose over the wretched thought his mother would probably love them.

He flipped over to a new page, and thought aloud, "Why I like Konoha…what a dumb, stupid, subject…" Jiraiya stopped and remembered what Sakumo had said, 'fighting for his liberty'. The young teen frowned. He shook his head (despising the fact his mother could plant such a poisonous idea in his young head in the first place), and he fished for a pencil in the bottom of the square container.

_'Why I love Konoha'_, he scribbled at the top.

"A story," he thought aloud. "How would I make _that_ into a story?"

He suddenly snickered as he looked at the subject, "Because it's not _Kusa_, _Tsuchi_, or _Suna_…Mfph," he said again, "But what makes _Konoha_…?"

He groaned, "Oh this is so stupid," he said. "How long does it have to be?"

Somewhere in him, he knew the answer to that: as long as necessary to convey your thought, your feeling across…and _before all, to make you see_…which was essentially the horrid, painful part. There was nothing special upon his first win…except of course the twenty-five dollars. Other than that, he wanted to believe his mother's pride in him was unfounded. And yet…he couldn't shake the competition side of it: eleven to fourteen—in November he was fifteen, he was the very top of his category: he_ must_ defend it! It was his duty, as a fourteen year old with capable writing skills. He could win. If he didn't send _something_ in, they'd give it to some snotty eleven or twelve year old with something so sappy and even dumber—a story about going to the park or something with her grandmamma in simple, sappy language……

Jiraiya was infuriated at the prospect.

He began brainstorming.

**.**

Eight days later, the last day of August, very late at night, Kano heard a knock at the door that startled her—she got from the sofa in the den, setting her book down, and she looked out the window on the left side; the only person she fathomed at this late hour was Takato. She opened the door…and stood in sudden amazement—"Sakumo…!"

"Hi," he smiled, "May I come in…?"

"Of course…My goodness…" She let him in and closed the door—"When did you get back?!"

She watched him sit down on a chair, appearing slow and tired, like the way she'd seen him after he and his cell arrived back from the tsuchi/kusa border. But he produced an envelope he had tucked in a pocket behind the fabric of his green vest. He held it out for her. "I just got back tonight, but I wanted to give this to you straightaway."

"Where did you…" Her question fell flat and was readily answered upon reading the face of the envelope, addressed to her, with her address; the return address being from a home in the land of fog and mist, from a Haruno Naomi. "Oh my—Sakumo—you—you went _there_…?!"

He smiled and bowed his head tiredly. Weary as he was, he hadn't sensed her son move from his bedroom—Jiraiya walked out in a loose kimono robe, woken by the small commotion. He stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Sakumo…" he said with a dry mouth.

Jiraiya came in through the open doorway and into the den.

"You went to water country," his mother exclaimed.

Sakumo nodded.

Keiko was beside herself—she sat on the edge of the sofa, holding the letter in her hands, gazing at him, "But how did you…get…this…?"

Sakumo swallowed. "I had to deliver a letter myself, to a young man. Well this man lived in Nichinan, or at least he stayed there in a large hotel. From there…I met two very nice old men standing on the corner of one of the streets."

"…Sage and Jin!" she exclaimed.

He nodded again. "They were amazing. I spent the entire afternoon and evening with them—I met Azami-san, and she had that letter. Naoko wanted her to mail it for her. She'd just left to go north for a production play. I saved her the trouble," he smiled. "I didn't know you kept a correspondence."

"Oh…" she smiled, "We barely exchange a letter every few years or so…I always used to send a letter on our anniversaries when the mission ended…Oh, thank you. That's so wonderful, I'm so glad you met them. How are they? How did you see them?" she asked after Sage and Jin.

"After I delivered the man's letter, I was walking back through town…these two men stopped and looked at me—I noticed them too…They pointed at me and talked to themselves. Finally they waved at me and Jin asked me who I was—I could barely understand him at first," he confessed with a smile. "His accent is so thick. Everything just spilled out…I was invited back to their home—it wasn't really an invite, Sage insisted. I couldn't believe his work lab—he's a good doctor. I think Sage said he's sixty-nine, but he has no plans of retiring…Jin wouldn't give his age, but Sage told me he was seventy earlier this month…" Sakumo smiled in the memory. "They were amazing. I learned a lot. They're doing well—so is Azami."

Kano was moved—she smiled broadly.

Jiraiya, meantime, had taken a seat in a wooden dining room chair—sitting on the edge precariously.

"I came straight here," Sakumo said again, and leaned forward—he stood up, "I just wanted to give that to you."

"Oh—of course…" She stood and smiled.

Jiraiya rose shakily.

"Thanks," Sakumo said. "I'll get back now…It was long trip back. The ride wasn't exactly smooth…"

"Sakumo—" Jiraiya burst. His older brother looked at him. Jiraiya pointed his face for the floor, his eyes narrowing, in grief and pent emotion. He stood there, and forced himself to speak, "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really sorry. I didn't want you to go, I didn't. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Sakumo responded calmly.

"No…" Jiraiya murmured, feeling worse, "It's not…"

"Don't worry about it," Sakumo said. He glanced at Kano briefly; "Goodnight."

Just as he opened the door—Jiraiya's head came up—but he couldn't speak; Sakumo was gone.

The door shut behind him. Jiraiya felt a sudden wave of emotion crest in him, he briskly walked back to his room and collapsed on his bed in agony and turmoil. He bit his lip; he wouldn't cry. He couldn't…

**.**

The following evening, Jiraiya trembled in his zori—he arrived at his brother's house, holding the confection removed from the freezer that morning: it was rhubarb pie; the peace offering.

Jiraiya took a breath and knocked…

No one answered, but he jumped seconds later as he heard a radio turn on, from the back porch. Shakily, Jiraiya stepped down and went around to the back. He saw his older brother sitting on the back porch in the swing—Sakumo turned the volume down, and then off. Jiraiya walked up the steps of the back porch and stood at a distance, "Hi…this from my mother…"

"Thanks," Sakumo said; he got up, and went in the open back door—Jiraiya followed him up the steps on the left hand side and into the large kitchen. Jiraiya set the glass dish on the counter—Jiraiya strived for something to say—"Um, the field, looks nice."

Sakumo took away an unintentional insult. "Yeah. It does," he agreed, storing the pie in the refrigerator. "Thanks." Sakumo turn and walked back down the steps and out the door—Jiraiya followed after him. The older brother took back his seat on the swing—Jiraiya stood very near the low table, his neck bent; "Ani…I'm really sorry…about what I said. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Sakumo glanced at him and sighed. "Yeah…I know. I forgive you," even his own tone wasn't entirely convincing; Sakumo looked down, and then out across the small square of wheat. "You're young. I don't blame you. I had no one around at your age, either, but for my sensei."

Jiraiya kept silent.

"It's not your fault."

"Well…it's not your fault, either," Jiraiya inserted truthfully. He was able to produce a weak sort of smile from him. Sakumo gazed downwards again; Jiraiya watched him. "Are you…" Jiraiya was hesitant to ask, "Are you going to go back out there…again…?"

After a pause, Sakumo shook his head. "No. I don't want to Jiraiya, not for a week, not for a month. Not for two months. I want to be here to work this land. Missions can wait when harvest comes. It's how I've done it. But I need you to know, that…" Sakumo stopped himself while looking at his young brother's face.

"I know," Jiraiya said, for all entirety. "It's what you do…I guess…someday…I'll be doing it too," he flashed a small smile—Sakumo looked at him and frowned, "I hope you don't," Sakumo returned quietly.

Jiraiya cast him a quizzical look.

"The stakes are coming up higher these days," said his brother. "It's only a matter of time before something goes wrong."

"…You mean…"

Sakumo clasped his hands—"Generally, wars that follow are larger and more destructive than the preceding ones. I don't know—I can't say. I shouldn't say. We don't need a second one. I learned a lot from what Sage and Jin told me in water country—the Kiri village, half the time, are fighting each other, and the civilians get caught in the way. It's the Kaguya who usually start it. 'Said there's just that need for war in their blood. That's no different on the mainland—there's some grudge, or some hatred rooted somewhere. There's kindling all around to bring it to light."

"Well…the first one happened…a long time ago."

"Yeah…" Sakumo looked up. _The thought of you fighting out there…_he thought depressively. "Still," he sighed. "Can I walk you back? I wanted to talk to your mother more."

Jiraiya smiled, "Yeah! What was it like?" he asked, referring to the land of mist.

Sakumo stood. "Well, once the fog cleared…It was…very normal…Of course that's after we got there in one piece…"

**.**

"Hatake Sakumo. I don't want to see you in this office," Hizuren said.

"…What would you recommend?"

"Three months, at least. Pinned, and chained down."

"That's no way to recoup."

"Tough. Just get out that door, and never return. At least for a darn month, won't you? And I mean the full thirty-one days plus, not the thirty days you tease me about."

Sakumo smiled to himself.

"Go on!" Hizuren grinned. "Stop stalling time for a messenger. That's an order. Get out."

**.**

"How did training go?"

He shrugged. It was late in the afternoon. "Sarutobi-sensei wasn't with us—We just went on a mission in the village."

"Oh—what was Hizuren doing?" Sakumo asked with a little guilt on his face. The two brothers turned down the lane. Jiraiya didn't know—"Just something for work or something."

Sakumo was still tempted to stop by the office that night…

"Oh! Sakumo! I wanted to show you something!" Jiraiya remembered.

"Let me guess—a brand new jutsu?"

"No! It's…more dumb than that, come on, its in the tree house!"

Once there, Jiraiya showed him the clipping of the small article of the newspaper underneath the impressive article about streetlights: _Stories wanted…_

"Wow—So what are you going to write about?"

"I haven't really decided yet," Jiraiya said. "What do you think? What would you write about?"

Sakumo smiled, "Well, I guess I wouldn't know."

"Me either—I've got some ideas, and some stuff written…" Jiraiya watched his brother's face. "Do you want to see?"

"Sure."

**.**

"…So, how bad is it?"

He grinned. "Your father always warned me—no, _vehemently_ dissuaded me from switching to soybeans—nearly half of it's gone now by the damn bugs, nothing seems to be working. Some of my wheat is rusty too; can't really help that. The corn is slow. Can't really help that, either. They're moody. I'm not sure what it is. I need rain—the wheat doesn't need it, but everything else does. Usually how it goes. I wish it could rain in the shape of the letter 'ka'. That'd be nice. Against the laws of nature, but nice. I guess we're all victims of 'mother nature'. That's all it comes down to. We try and cheat the system with repellent and advanced, more resilient crops; bigger yield varieties…on and on. There's a million of them—or almost. But, it all comes back around in the end. In between, all we have is a big field of dreams. For me, or your father, that's all it could ever be. I think the hope's worn off, but I don't think the dream has…" Kosaka laughed, "Heck, I wouldn't want to wake up now. Who knows what I'd see. Well—ok, I know what I'd see—my little soybeans half gone from a tiny monster from Hell…good, God…"

Sakumo smiled. Listening to Kosaka was almost like listening to his father. Coushander's old friend was sixty-three now, still keeping his line of work with the usual smiles and sarcasm; Kosaka's only son worked with him, destined to someday take up that wide field of dreams for himself. Kosaka's two daughters were off on their own—one married, and the other attending school, working in the city. But in addition to his son, Kosaka had at least three men who were hired help.

"How soon are you going to cut the wheat?"

"Mm…maybe a couple more weeks. Now that I say this, a deluge of rain will go next week, so then it might be sooner," he nodded to the small patch in front of him—"Yours isn't nowhere nears ready. It always grew really funny down here."

"Could I be there, when you reap yours?"

"Of course—how long you got time off for?"

Sakumo smiled. "Well…it was…fairly negotiable…barring any unforeseen crises."

"Of course," Kosaka grinned. "Sure. Come on out. We'd love to have you."

"Thank you—and thank you for coming by."

"I was just passing though, thought I'd take a look. I used to pass by a lot back in the olden-days," his smile slackened—"The meetings…just aren't quite the same without him," Kosaka laughed. He shook his head, in hidden disbelief his quirky friend was gone nine years now. "He used to drive me so…crazy…It's been a while," he remarked. "It has been a while." Kosaka glanced at the young man beside him.

He observed Sakumo spoke like his father. The young man's voice finally deepened enough to remind Kosaka of the tone of Coushander's unique inflections. The dexterity was gone—Sakumo had proven himself over the course of years his strength in the shinobi's world. Still, Kosaka admired his faithful and sometimes tireless devotion to Coushander's land. Sakumo still loved it—it was in his blood. And that blood was also his mother's; his humbleness and modesty proved it all the time. Kosaka smiled once again in the silence—the offspring was a quiet fellow…"You've certainly grown," Kosaka said, "You've really come in to your own, you know?" the young man also was growing to resemble his father in many ways. Kosaka could see it along the brow line, and mouth, and that made him smile. Sakumo's eyes were much more like Matty's, in darkness and intensity.

Sakumo moved his head to look over the patch of yellow grass. He winced a little as he saw the destruction and chaos beyond it, overgrown with confusion. "Well I wish I could have learned more under my father. I hate seeing it like this," Sakumo confessed, attributing it to his own failures. He confessed this often to himself—he bit down the stinging feeling of guilt his father's life's-work was reduced to weeds on a good share of forty acres. The garden and the trees were seldom all that remained. A poor tribute, Sakumo thought. His smile was a terse one.

Kosaka turned his gaze and thought. "I remember one year…this was way back—I was maybe thirteen or fourteen…my father got quite sick—ran headlong into a bunch of medical problems—the start of the year, he broke his scapula and his thumb while working one of the machines. By summer, he was fighting infection. Put him out of work a whole year and half. That land—that land was all we had. I was out there almost every minute of everyday. I felt like the whole world was on my shoulders to get the work done. That summer was cold, too. I mean it was so cold, I had to stoke the fire out in the greenhouse at night so the flowers wouldn't freeze. My mother used to do wreaths and arrangements for people. Sometimes I slept out there, I was so tired. It was a hard year, and another hard year after that. We didn't get the crops in as we should. I remember seeing acres go to waste—there wasn't the manpower to do it all. It was an awful feeling. A chilling feeling. A chill colder than any frost. But…" Kosaka said, "It happens. There's nothing you can do about it," he smiled, "Unless of course you've got an army of men at your beck and call."

An odd thought suddenly crossed Sakumo's mind as he listened to the last statement, _an army of men,_ he mused, _my father could have easily performed clone jutsu,_ Sakumo thought, so why not? "Did he ever…" Sakumo dropped the words on a loose, and inexplicable grin.

"…Did he ever what?"

Sakumo shook his head, "It's nothing."

"Oh—my father recovered after two seasons…"

"No, I mean…about having an army of men," Sakumo smiled. "My father should have cheated. He should have at least remembered the clone jutsu..." Even though Sakumo understood such a thought would have never entered into the Hatake's mind.

Kosaka blinked. "…The dog!" he exclaimed. "The dog, he shoulda' …God!" Kosaka laughed. "Oh…poor Coushander. He would…He would have no sooner done that than cut off his right arm. _God_—that man always made it a point to despise ninja, every damn chance he could. He used to get so angry. He'd walk out on meetings if there was a shinobi there, he would in an instant, looking all angry and indignant. I'd come out after an hour, and see him sitting on the back end of my wagon, looking up at the sky. Hm," Kosaka smiled. "He sure wanted nothing to do with it."

Sakumo smiled briefly as his head lowered.

"I still remember how mad he was when you…you were what, three? Two? Three—when that group of ninja came through—?"

"Oh—yeah," Sakumo looked at him with sudden alacrity.

Kosaka grinned, chuckling, "That man spoke through locked teeth the whole freaking month, I am not kidding you. No sir. Lord, he was angry. He told me about it in the shortest factual statements possible. I don't know what I was thinking, I was in a good mood just watching him; Coushander was so uptight, I just stood there and smiled and I said, 'Oh, did they stomp on your wheat field in little circles?' and your father told me, just with a God-awful beet red face, 'No, they stomped on my son's conscience in little circles, God!'" Kosaka laughed. "He was _so_ _mad_…"

"Really? He said that?!" Sakumo exclaimed with an odd smile on his face.

"Yeah, he did. I never heard so many broken sentences all together spoken in all my life. But I think that was the only coherent thing he said to me. It's a wonder Matty put up with him…" Kosaka trailed, lolling on the bench.

Sakumo couldn't resist. He'd never gotten the chance like this to ask the man, so he wondered aloud, "What was she like?"

Kosaka smiled. "She was extraordinarily sweet and gentle. And patient, too. A lady would have to be patient to put up with _him_. But she knew him even before they were married. Friends from youth. God, she bore his rants and his tirades like no one else," he laughed. "And she kept his feet firmly on the ground. I know she did that," he nodded. "They were really perfect together," he thought back. "Really perfect."

**.**

Late that night, Sakumo spent his time looking at the old Hatake family pictures.

Before the new owner moved in to the old Hatake home near Midori, time was spent moving out the last of the personal affects. The pictures were divided—Sakumo kept most of them in the dusty-grey color album. There were a few frames and books, many old papers and receipts; some old glassware still in the cupboards belonging to Sayoe, and most of the old clothes in the closets they donated. There was an old aquamarine-color tin found under one of the twin beds in his father and uncle's old room. It held five clear marbles, a smooth and round dark blue rock, and a plastic black horse, about three inches in length. In one of the drawers of the old dresser between the beds stashed official papers from the ninja village affirming Ryouma Saru-Shin's status and service. There was also another smaller plastic horse in the shade of a cream color palomino.

There was a picture of such a horse real size, in a photo given to Kano and Sakumo from Mihure's brother. He offered them several pictures to keep—most of them were of Matsuko with the horses, and in the field.

The pictures in the grey album were at first impression…unbelievable. Still, there remained a level of awe in regards to someone his father could never speak of.

Many of the pictures were of the three together, growing up slowly through the years; Coushander, Matsuko, and Saru-Shin.

Saru was the eldest. And he was always smiling, in every single picture. Oddly enough, Sakumo saw his father quite a few times in the grey photos steadying the young girl, often standing just behind her, who looked nearly as skinny as a twig—knobby knees and soft brown hair. She too smiled frequently. Together, the trio was there, standing in a row, either in front of the Hatake house, or the Mihure house, or sometimes on the bridge, the three were stacked side by side in a row, smiling. Tiny Matsuko stood between the two boys. There was a picture of Coushander and Takeshi, father and son, standing by their work shed, in grayscale—Coushander was about seven, and short. His father smiled broadly. The shed was white, and looking almost immaculate. The top half of Coushander's shirt was that same color, in patches. Maybe it was paint. There was also one rare picture of Saru in full uniform, his age recorded as sixteen in the lower right hand corner of the faded white border. There was something about that young face that Sakumo tied instantly to Jiraiya. Sakumo could recall the image of the team bound for water country; he was sure now Jiraiya would not inherit his uncle's height, but his marks, his stripes. Jiraiya was still much like his father, and Keiko too, who was tall herself. She said once her own father was a tall man.

After Saru's shinobi picture, Sakumo did not see his uncle again. The pictures following were of Takeshi, the land, Coushander and Matty, and her parents, on occasion. The pictures were few and far between the those years—his mother and his father were young children, eleven, twelve, and then thirteen, and so on, until they too eventually stopped. He found no photo of Coushander as shinobi in uniform. The only picture left of the two brothers before water country was that of Takeshi's funeral, where all of them stood in front the home Takeshi had built. It was an odd sepia tone showcasing hard reds and green tones, and even a brown blue and yellow, and flattered nobody. It was the one of the only pictures in which Saru did not smile. In fact, the seriousness of his face changed his whole appearance completely.

There were pictures in the very back of the album, far older than those. There, Sakumo's grandfather Takeshi was a young boy himself in grayscale, standing before his father, who had wild white hair, a crazy smile, and two odd blotches on his face. The two stood within a forest, near the mountain, in front of their small wooden home.

Then there was Takeshi, twenty-two, with Sayoe, in their wedding picture. She wore a simple flowered veil, and a plain white dress with gauzy three-quarter sleeves. She had dark hair—dark eyes. Her firstborn son would have those eyes. They were intense and straightforward. Sakumo observed his father had been much more like Takeshi in appearance.

Sakumo turned back idly to see the small trio: they were in their Sunday best. Saru was grinning like something was secretly hilarious, and Coushander, not more than a boy about five years old, held Matsuko's shoulder as she smiled in a tiny dotted dress. She held a little flower, in her hands. Only she would have been small enough to find it.

**.**

He worked the next morning, in garden, and the fields. Sometimes after one, he quit, and by four o'clock, he was coming back visiting with Keiko—his younger brother was still out on mission. Sakumo came back the south way, leading himself towards the river to go out the south gates.

He stopped on the small wooden bridge there and thought idly, as was so easy to do with free time to roll around with, like a kitten with a ball of string, no sooner he untangled it, he had no idea what to do with it. He watched the water mainly, serving as the mirror to his ideas. Keiko was still concerned with her young son's steady and lofty exuberance, showing too many episodes of false maturity. He seemed to want to spend much more time alone in the tree house, she made sure of that location on several occasions. But often time he lied about where he went… "I'm sorry," she told Sakumo, hiding her worry, "It's just—he was my little boy, and now…he's growing up." At that point she smiled to force away her sense of loss and transition, and Sakumo could only hope to smile smally in return. He couldn't say he'd been there before, not in Jiraiya's circumstance, or hers. But that didn't stop him from daydreaming about the idea to someday, someday take a wife and begin a family…

Sakumo watched the stream ripple. He tired of fighting. He was tried of not having a definite reason to do it.

He was efficient at it. That thought was the only one he claimed his entire worth to. He was able. But the entirety of his friends and colleagues would say more than able. Hizuren himself treated him with a sense of respect. Sakumo had earned it. It did not take too long to build. He earned the respect of the other jounin for being level-headed under pressure. For being strong. Stronger than most. He earned a nickname of shiroi kiba for his chakra and his dogs, both of which steady and unwavering. Efficiency was the least of it in their eyes—he was dubbed, potentially, one of the strongest jounin in Konoha.

But efficiency was the most of it. Completing missions with no loss of life, that was his concluding judgment, in the spirit of Oikawa. Sakumo made the decision years ago when he was granted captain or squad leader, it would not happen under his watch, nor his command. When those nineteen men were assigned with him, that was his goal. That was his mission: keeping them alive in a bowel of hell.

_How could that haven been less than a month ago?_ he wondered. With a sudden stab of bitterness, he turned away from the rail briskly, bumping in to someone—"Oh!" he blurted clumsily—the woman's brown folder dropped on the deck and a few papers slid out.

He caught himself from cursing at himself for his lack courtesy in his stupor, "Oh I'm sorry," he bent down—she got there first. "Oh no," she said apologetically, "I'm sorry. I should have been paying attention."

She returned the papers easily without his assistance. "Oh no it was my fault," he owned, "I'm so sorry," he didn't know his daydreaming had been that powerful not to sense her coming.

She took the folder, readjusted her brown tote purse, and stood.

Sakumo stood with her—"Really, I'm so sorry," he said.

"Oh no," she smiled awkwardly, "It's ok."

He looked at her. Sakumo had never seen her before. With his senses becoming operational once more after his dumb reverie, he immediately sensed something very gentle about her, and he forgot he was staring…: Her hair was near black. Her eyes were a dark brown. Her face was soft but her eyebrows arched gently in a swift fashion—her face ensnared his eyes as if he were looking at a picturesque portrait of a sweet, young woman. Her smile was an almost nervous one—he apologized again, "I'm sorry," his eyes briefly darted from hers; "I'm Sakumo."

"…Oh! I'm…" she stopped. She thought for a second and then looked at him strangely; she could not see his face. "_Hatake_…Sakumo?"

At a loss for words looking at her, he nodded.

"Oh…! My…!" she gasped, and lowered her head, "I'm so sorry sir."

"Oh…" he realized. "Oh, just Sakumo, please," he asked. Damn his efficiency…

She turned away, as if she would hurry away. She barely took two steps before Sakumo found the pluck to say, "Miss—wait…"

The woman stopped dutifully.

"Um…" (Hard part.) "Oh I just wondered—d'you…pass by this way often…?" he stuttered.

"Oh—yes," she said, her eyes on the wooden rail. Sakumo saw her stance now a nervous, uncertain one. She hesitated. "I work at the Academy…I grade papers, exams…and—and other work. I'm not a teacher. I'm…well…I transferred there after…well…" She glanced in his direction briefly. She stood about five eight or nine with him, and she looked down, "Um, after Sarin's cell got new management," She flashed a sad smile briefly into the water. "Teran wouldn't take genin in the cell, so, I was out."

"You…were in Sarin's cell…?" Sakumo smiled, "The six-man reconnaissance and 'light-house' team…?"

"Yes," she smiled again. Her voice matched her years—Sakumo guessed she was close to his age, he couldn't tell. "I served four years with him," she said. "I grew…very attached to that cell—Sarin is such a good man."

"Yes, he is," Sakumo genuinely agreed. His answer seemed to surprise her—she flushed a little and said, "Not many say that about him…Though…I guess you must know many men."

Sakumo shrugged. "Well…I guess. But Sarin is a good man, I know."

"…Well," she murmured, paired with a short and swift smile, "Nice to meet you…"

"Oh—um," he stopped her again with his words. He jeered his lack of social skill, "Would you mind…if I saw you again…?"

She stood there, looked at him dumbly, and swallowed, "…Me?"

"Yes—" he suddenly did not know what else to say.

"Um…Sure…I…guess…I come by here, about this time."

"Great," he smiled. "I'll wait here."

The woman forced down something between a laugh and fear; she nodded and smiled politely and walked away, conscious of his being—wondering if he might stay out there all night for her—wondering…

**.**

"I think I've done something wrong," she said that Thursday, in the middle of lunch in the cafeteria. "I've done something wrong…but what?!"

"Are you sure it was him?"

She cast an odd look—"Of course I'm sure. You don't miss someone like that. I tell you, I've…well, it's either that, or…"

"Or what?"

"Or he would…want to recruit me for something, I don't know…Oh…!" She looked down at her sandwich and touched her stomach. "What does he want?!"

Her friend laughed at her—"It's not funny!" she argued. But her friend smiled, "Dear, what if he just…was interested in you?"

"In…me? Him?! Oh! I'm not that kind of girl—who does he think he is—no, I'm sorry, that was judgmental. I shouldn't do that. You're right. He seemed…well, I don't know. He wears a mask. How can I know?"

"Well what was his mood, his manner?"

"Well…he did apologize…many times for bumping in to me. He was very polite, very sorry…he was…He seemed…"

"What?!"

"…He seemed…humble," she said quietly, hoping it was true.

"Sakumo…"

He woke up, "Yes?"

She laughed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, why?"

"Oh. Then what's wrong with my kitchen cabinets, you keep staring after them," she smiled. "Have they disappeared? What are you thinking about?"

"Oh—nothing, it's nothing."

She kept her smile to herself, then. Keiko saw him go sometime later. He said he had an appointment.

**.**

She saw him standing there, leaning on the rail, and then straighten with nervous alacrity upon her first steps onto the bridge. She did not know when he would speak. She couldn't see his face. "Hello," she said.

"Hello," he returned.

There was a short silence trapped in uncertainty. "…I'm sorry," he finally said. "I—um, well I don't do this, really, I don't. I just…could I…May I walk you home…?"

"Oh—um, sure…" she nodded with suspicion in her eyes.

"Please," he gestured.

They walked across the bridge in silence.

"Do you live down this way?" he asked her, grateful to himself he thought of it.

"Yes—with my mother."

"Oh," he murmured. He left his clammy hands in his pockets, suddenly doubting the brilliance of the impromptu walk. He walked beside her quietly.

After several odd moments, she rose up her own courage to say to him, "I realized you've just come back from, Kusa, sir…"

"Oh yes," he said, taking her good lead as a mode to explain his motives, "Yes I did. I've just got some leave coming to me now, and I took it. I want—I'm glad to be home. I've…" he sighed quietly and tried to collect himself, "I only wanted—I wish I could fit back in so easily; that's all. It becomes rather hard, after a while, I guess."

"Oh, yes," she said after a moment. "My father took long missions. It always too him a while to adjust, but he did. He'd tell me stories of the lands and cultures. He traveled most everywhere."

"Really?"

She nodded. "He's been gone seven years…I miss him very much."

Her soft voice touched him; her words resurfaced the same loss he shared. Sakumo looked at her with awe. She kept her eyes on the road—perhaps she was shy, perhaps she was nervous, but her words were genuine, he could read it on her sweet face. Her words were spoken with a quiet sincerity so luminous about her, and unwavering. "I'm sorry," he sympathized.

"It's all right."

"I know…how you must feel. I lost my father; it's been nine years now, I can't believe it. Still hurts like yesterday. I wish I could hear his voice again…I didn't get the chance to be with him," he confessed, "I value my ties with people now. It's all I've got left—it's all that matters," he smiled to himself.

She was surprised by the reciprocal in his statement and sentiment. _So it was an innocent catch of the eye, _she thought with a brief smile. The humbleness she hoped for was gaining depth with his confiding spirit. There was seemed no asperity about him, no seriousness or gruffness she would otherwise think most often synonymous of the elite jounin. She would not have guessed it, but she wouldn't have thought his softness devoid, either. He was still a person. A highly important one, but still. He was known for his convictions, his strength, his ways of handing most every kind of situation. His pensive and shaded dark eyes were just that; his hair was a light grey color, like silver. But other than that, she could not gather much else about him. She could be a little surer now though she was not going to be singled out for some mission, or reprimanded…but still she could not explain yet as to why he would single her out as such. But here she blamed herself: she did not casually converse with men—nor did she do anything else casual with them. She was not a socialite, by any means. She wasn't annoyed—perhaps he was still sorry for bumping in to her. She would at least honor him by this odd walk…Her silence continued wrestling uneasily in her: he was Shiroi Kiba, after all. She was but a genin.

They were both silent for some time.

"He was…a nojojin, my father," Sakumo explained.

"…Oh," she said, with surprised interest.

"Grew wheat, mainly…and the garden. I live near Kujira. We used to go there, my father and I, when I was very young—do you know it?"

"No—I grew up here…My father was originally from Nobu. He came here, and met my mother. They were both shinobi. My mother resigned, though, when she had me," she explained awkwardly.

"I tell you, I've never been to Nobu," he said wistfully.

"I've only been there once," she smiled, "Just with my father, when I was young—We went there for about four days, to see family. It's quite a big city."

Another silence wafted in between the two.

They reached a lane of homes, and stopped near a white one, with a modest garden adjoining it. Several large and old maples secluded the home from it's neighbors. "Well," she said, smiling nervously, "This is it—we have a garden, too, though I'm sure not near as large…Thank you for walking me—you must have a longer walk than I."

"Oh—it was a pleasure, you're welcome. Um…"

"…Yes…?"

"Oh—um, it's nothing…Nothing…" he repeated dryly.

"Well…thank you…Goodbye, sir."

"Yeah—goodbye."

**.**

_I've faced Kusa, enemies, armies, and a lot of things in between, _he thought, "And I can't talk to a lady? What the hell is wrong with me?" Sakumo shook his head, dropping his eyes from the bathroom mirror. _If keeping cool in those situations is considered courageous, I'd love to know what it takes to talk to a woman._ "I swear to God…" he muttered.

He did not finish his sentence. He already knew he was an idiot on a massive scale.

**.**

September tenth, a Wednesday, he moved, for a week, to help his father's old friend Kosaka. Seeing the man's eldest and only son was a joy—the young man was almost four years older than Sakumo. And Masaaki Kosaka looked like his father, in all respects, only younger. He was the middle child between two bright daughters; the eldest lived in a neighboring town with her husband, and the youngest, still two years older than Sakumo, was in the city just north of there, studying at a higher school of learning. She'd just returned for the fall.

Sakumo spent the week there, watching and working among Masaaki and the hired help. He helped reap the grain in the dry yellow stalks, and loaded the cut grass on the wagons—Kosaka's prayer had been answered, partially; they received no rain so conducive to rot this time of year that would have spoiled the grass. Some of the yellow stalks had also avoided rust in the northern fields—something that had plagued Coushander's fields sporadically. By the end of it, Sakumo was questioning why his father did what he did in the first place: it was so much work, even for three, or four men to handle. How could his father have done this for so long, without help or horse? It was completely unfathomable.

Kosaka laughed over dinner their last night together, "He used to fall asleep in my wagon. He said it was the lull going over the road, but…"

"No, I'm serious—I always knew it took all he had, but…_everything_ he had…"

"Well it was lucky he wasn't in it to make money," Kosaka said. "I thought he was some slum when I first saw him. But…He knew full well what it demanded, and how to do it. He just never had the resources," the older man smiled, "I kept telling him, 'buy a horse, 'No, no'…he wouldn't do that. Not for the longest damn time..."

"…Why not?" Sakumo asked.

"Who knows…" Kosaka shrugged. "Probably had some experience with them that turned him off…"

"Matsuko was fond of horses," Misao said.

"Then he probably got Zosha for her sake."

"I don't know," his wife thought. "She told me Coushander named him after a horse he once knew, it had a slightly different name…Can't think of it…Zoen? Zoenna…Something like that," she said, and smiled, "He was a pretty grey horse."

"Hardy one…" Kosaka commented. "Sixteen hands. Strong hindquarters."

"How did he know…Zoen? Was he one of my grandfather's horses?" Sakumo inquired.

"No…" she shook her head. "I don't know, really. She said he wouldn't say. That was a long time ago," she smiled wistfully.

"Typical…" Kosaka entered. "…He did end up wanting my dun mare though," he smiled to himself. "I had to say heck no. Not for fifty pounds of rhubarb and an oak sapling. I didn't care how cute it was. Nobody else would accept the deal, either…Hm," Kosaka grinned, "What a guy."

Sakumo smiled in accord, until he thought of what else his father had sacrificed, and had to live without, for his family and field, his dream…

Before he left, Kosaka led him into his old shed—one that was much larger and half less cluttered than the small dusty little shack on Coushander's land, near the east garden. A myriad of equipment stood against the walls including old spades and hoes, wire mesh nailed to an old box frame, large and rusted metal frames marked with masking tape that read 'Keep Me' in violet letters, and other hand scythes, wire, and rope. But one old scythe rested with the others with a white envelope strung around it's long, and weather beaten, splintered shaft, and Kosaka walked him right to it. "Recognize this?" he asked, and Sakumo smiled. He knew it was his father's old and favorite scythe. Sakumo nodded, and the older man handed it to him, "I think this is the right time to give it back to you. Your father…left it to my discretion, so, here it is, along with the letter he gave to me. He said…you could read it."

"Thank you."

On the way back, he read it: …_He who wields me, wields the world._

And he wondered, for a moment, if the words were true.

**.**

"He made a mistake and overworked himself after he was finally released from the hospital," Keiko told him. "He almost undid everything…He was laid up for a while. Even after that…he had such a strong sense of work ethic—there was no talking him out of it. I couldn't. He just _had_ to be out there."

"I know…He must have. I just couldn't believe he—"

Jiraiya came in through the front door and heard the voices in the kitchen—he ran and burst through the open doorway beyond the den, "You're back!"

"Hey," Sakumo smiled. "How are you?"

"Great."

"How's the story coming?"

Jiraiya smiled, "Ok—how was your week?"

"Good. I learned a lot. I've got a job for you," Sakumo said. Jiraiya looked on eagerly with surprise—Sakumo grinned, "Do you want to help me this fall, getting the field back in to shape?"

"Sure!" Jiraiya agreed, not knowing yet what labor he volunteered himself to do…His ani smiled.

**.**

September eighteenth, the next day, a Thursday, Sakumo wandered into the village beyond the southern gates after working in his father's field. It was three o'clock. He purposefully walked to the bridge over the river, and tiredly, he sat down with his body parallel to the rail. He leaned his head and shoulder on one of the wooden slats, unable to pull himself out of his drowsiness. The air was slightly cool, but the sun settled the difference as it warmed his dark clothes. The sky was a clear September blue, true and deep, with a crisp feeling about the atmosphere. Sakumo watched the water moving slowly for the longest time, but he succumbed to sleep…

She didn't know what to think. She stepped silently, her brown fabric vest and shinobi indigo rustled quietly like a little church mouse, she made no sound, and she stopped lightly, bending over slightly to confirm he was genuinely asleep. She could not see his face, but his eyes, his eyes were closed underneath his grey bangs. She straightened her back and smiled strangely. How long has he been here? She wondered. He showed no outward signs of stirring.

She left. Quietly. On tip-toe.

**.**

September twenty-sixth, a Friday, he felt alive and awake, contrasting with spirit with the dim and gloomy grey sky. His mind was clear, quick, and aware; alert with interest, and admiration. Another skip in his step was provided by the penny he found on the path going down just outside the gates, so wishfully, he intended to flick it into the little river on the south side of the village. Even on a cloudy day in Konoha, the afternoon still held it's own wonder and mysticism, all but wrapped and delivered under a blanket of silver and steel. He inhaled the cool air and he smiled, plunking the coin into the bottom of the river, wishing only for some company as he settled his arms across the top rail.

Ten minutes later, a particularly dark grey cloud came over the western sky behind him as he stood dutifully on the bridge. Five minutes after that, it began to rain. Five minutes after that, he walked off the bridge and went for the treeline on the left, along the river, and he stood up against a pine, and he was still determined to wait. "Come on…" he pleaded to the Heavens. A minute after that request, it was raining quite steadily. He waited five minutes more…Nothing came, but the heavy rain. He sensed nothing…So he left. "Idiot," he scolded himself. "She probably wouldn't want to see you again anyway," he walked home in the rain; then he ran. He got back to the shade under the front porch and sighed. "I didn't even know her name." Idiot.

**.**

The last day of September, a Tuesday afternoon, the weather, after two days of sun, was much the same clouded grey, mixed with a few dim and rare breaks of sun. He was passing the treeline to go up through the village and visit Kano, lost in a dim mood himself, and worn out from preparing the field for next spring. His hands were in his pockets—his palms were pink and blistered. He was going to see her, and then collect Jiraiya, for his help with the garden and the fence line. Sakumo came to the bridge, dimly looked up, and then stopped in his tracks: a dark-haired woman stood there, in casual clothes—a dark black short-sleeved shirt, a bark brown skirt, and a closed green cotton vest with pearl-color buttons and a little leaf green collar. Sakumo recognized this charming girl and caught his breath before it left him helpless entirely. She was beautiful, whoever she was.

She noticed him instantly, and smiled bashfully, as if she'd half-expected him, and half been there just to daydream, as seemed so common. There was something about standing over a shallow, swift river, that coursed the thoughts so easily. Sakumo walked towards that gentle smile, and he was first to say 'hello' though it sounded so strangely outside himself.

"Hi," she returned.

"How…have you been?"

"Good—I'm on break," she said. "I take it in the fall. Autumn is my favorite season."

"Oh," he smiled. "Yeah, it's beautiful," he said, reacquainting himself with her dark brown eyes.

"I'm—well, I'm sort of glad it coincided with the chuunin exams this year. I'm not one for crowds…I'm a quiet person."

"Oh, so am I," he said. "I know what you mean. My father was a private man—I like to live that way, too…" Sakumo finally released his inconsiderate stare and watched the water with her. "I'm…very glad to see you here," he said honestly. "I've been busy working the fields, back home. I figured it's about time my father's work continued, no matter the cost," he alluded to both the money, and the scars, and a plenty share of gashes and bruises. "I don't know how he did it all on his own. I'm so proud he did. After he died…I wanted to carry on that tradition. Being ninja takes priority, but never around harvest time," he smiled to himself. "I've made that promise, and I will see it through."

She smiled, not out of fear or timidness, but of a kind understanding. She would have never guessed the shiroi kiba was a man like this, and she wondered who else, if anyone really, knew him like this, so devoted to his home. She admired this kind of devotion, especially of him, it was admirable. So maybe he was just a quiet man after all. She spoke slowly, "I'm sure your father would be proud of the work your putting in to it. That's a very strong devotion, sir,"

"Oh, please, just Sakumo. Please just call me that, and I, I never got your name, miss…"

"Mizue, Yoshiko," she inserted, and quickly caught herself from adding 'sir'. She smiled, and blushed awkwardly at the same time. She could not see his face.

His first thought was that though it was plain, it seemed to fit her: Yoshiko…He looked on her soft features as she looked away from him. "That's a lovely name," he said.

"Thank you. I always thought it was pretty ordinary…I'm an only child."

"Oh…and may I ask…How old are you…?"

"Of course—I'm twenty-five."

"Really?" he said. "So am I."

"Oh! What month is yours…?"

"February."

"Oh—mine is May, May thirty-one."

She looked away again, surprised he was as young as she. For some reason, she'd been thinking he was in his early thirties. Yoshiko was surprised by a good many things about him so far, she found herself intrigued by him, and his honest sincerity. At least she hadn't done anything wrong…She smiled. "Would you…care to walk? There's a park down by where I live. I used to play there, with my father."

"Sure," he said readily, forgetting all other engagements, "I'd love to."

She led him down the bridge, and then right. The inlet park was beyond her home a ways, and the park itself was a small patch of field with swings, nestled within a forest of tall maples and a few pines. Sakumo listened attentively as she told him a little more of her own father, whom she missed with a loss akin to his own. He listened, surrounded by her voice, the only life in that park on the cloudy, listless day. She smiled, and her eyes sparkled in a feminine shine he could not hope to tear himself away from. Her vest, her skirt, her poise was reserved, like his own, but easy in that graceful feminine way he could not explain. There was something so gentle about her that made him stare. She stopped talking, and looked down at the ground with a sudden shy smile one her face.

He noticed the forest in the distance (yes, possibly for the first time), and then his gaze turned transfixed on to her as they sat together on a wooden bench near an old apple tree, looking healthy as possible in it's season, unlike his father's other old moody fruit tree that seldom produced an apple larger than a mandarin orange. He smiled again; she was beautiful, and she was patient and sweet, just like the old, twisted magnolia right beside it. It's late white blooms were fading, and dropping white tear-drop shape petals all over the ground. They talked of Sarin, and then of being shinobi, in general, of the weather, and of Sakumo's attempts to continue the field work, after having learned much from his father's old friend, another good man who did that work his whole life, raised in it, and now ready to pass it on to his son. Sakumo smiled. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I had never…" he stopped—suddenly unsure of how to put it to her, "…chose…" he worded, "this sort of life…" In truth, it was difficult to fathom. If he'd have never pushed his father, he would have never been thrown into this chaos—he'd have never met Dalzen—Coushander may have never met Keiko-san again. His whole life would have been vastly different.

"I know…" she said, picking up the idea. "I was never sure what I wanted to be…but I guess my father inspired me, with seeing new places. I wish I were still with Sarin, on his team…I have no will, really, to be chuunin—I doubt I have those skills, or the skills to ever try for a special jounin. But…I keep looking for a group like Sarin's. He's gone into semi-retirement I know; he isn't up for traveling now," she smiled. "Still…" she sighed.

"…Your father was shinobi," he smiled cleverly behind his mask, "Mine wasn't."

She smiled, unsure of what to say. She looked up at the heavy and low silver and grey curtains of cloud in the sky. "I like that kind of life though," she said. "Living without all the manic of day-to-day. That's why, I think, my parents bought that house. This is still one of the more rural parts of the village—we even have a garden. My father, and my mother both, liked their own self-sufficiency. I do too."

That did it. He was feeling something—closer to fondness…closer to…a definite admiration of her. Yes, definitely. It was definitely something. Gazing at her, was like looking into the river, he had no thought, but for dreams.

After a while, he began to be aware of the time, helped by her silence—and moment later, she glanced at him, briefly, and smiled.

"Do you have to go…?" he asked. "May I walk you back?"

"Oh, sure," she agreed. "I do have to get home, soon…"

They walked out of that quiet park, and down the quiet lane, not far. "Well," she said, smiling, "Thank you."

"Oh—it's nothing. Thank you. I…I'm happy we got to meet again, to talk."

"So am I," she smiled swiftly.

"Do you think…I could see you again, sometime…?"

"…Sure," she said politely. "How about next month…?" she teased.

Sakumo fell for it— "Huh…?" And then at least he realized October was only the following day— "Oh," He smiled he became this dumbstruck in front of her.

"I'm sorry—" she smiled, reminded herself to leave out 'sir' at his request.

"Oh no…I'm just…I'm very glad to have met you," he said. "Maybe…I can see you again, about…a couple days from now? Maybe Thursday? Sometime…?"

"Sure," she agreed. "See you then…"

"Yeah…see you…"

Sakumo returned home with the most giddy feeling about him. He realized about a half an hour later he'd been going to see Keiko-san, so he went back out. Both her and his younger brother were expecting him. They were, however, of expecting him to speak outside a distant, dreamlike stare…

**.**

Thursday came.

He had two appointments that day—the girl, and the meeting Kosaka had invited him to—never in his life had he gone to the farmer's meetings with his father. The closest he came was generally outside the building; as far back as he could remember, a short time after his mother died, Sakumo only went with his father for about a year and a half. He was left outside, in the field to look after Zosha for a half hour, to forty-five minutes, Coushander, then, never stayed longer than that. By the time Sakumo was eight, he was able to stay home while his father went out for that one night, a couple times each month. He knew, however, the type of people that were there, old men, and middle-aged men, men like Kosaka, and men like his father; but there was no one there, he was sure, he could recognize by face or by name.

The month was indeed October, with all it's autumnal tidings; Sakumo waiting diligently on the bridge at noon; the October sun warm on his face. She showed several minutes later, coming down the lane wearing a brown dress with a black cotton sweater with three-quarter sleeves. She hesitated as she recognized him.

She could see his face today—it came as a sudden odd feeling, but not an odd sight. Her energy slowed to a walk as she stopped on the deck of the wooden bridge, not knowing if her eyes were moving as quickly as her heart.

Her father had never worn a mask—the tradition was somewhat loose these days, she thought. It was not required, but it was extremely functional for the obvious reason. Stealth and secrecy being the two main recipients of the trade; the two objects core to every ninja within and outside a village. But that function was not put in use by many, she knew, not even the kage saw it fit except their guards. In her mind, she compared him to that level, but not the position. As far as she knew, Sakumo did the field work, in both senses of the word.

**.**

Later on in the evening, close to seven o'clock, he arrived at the building in the village and met Kosaka standing by the fence. Sakumo greeted him, smiling furtively. The two went inside together.

Inside was a small rectangular anteroom, brown wainscoting and chair rail was up on all four walls, and on the white drywall hung cork boards and mail catchers filled with pages and papers of not only Konohagakure events, but events and programs of the entire county—letters and flyers squared the walls in yellow and green, gray and red. Sakumo might have spent the two hours reading all of them. Kosaka led him through the open entry to the conference hall, with two blocks of pews lined in rows on either side of the aisle on the tile floor. The backs of the pews were wood, and the fabric of the seat was a carpet red. Kosaka took up his usual seat about two rows from the back, and Sakumo sat beside him, aware of the men (who knew Kosaka so well) glancing back in their direction, and then glancing back again with a strangeness. Sakumo caught one older man, two rows ahead of them in brown clothes move his head back for two seconds and then crane it forward in an instant, as if he'd suddenly seen a ghost. He then stole a glance from out the very corner of his eye, and then he jerked his head forward again.

Sakumo was reluctant to ask, but he felt he needed to be casual, "Is it always this loud in here?" He guessed there were over fifty people, closer to sixty. The noise was generating mainly from the left side where more than half the people, and also from the front rows.

"That's the point," Kosaka smiled. "Your father would drive me crazy—he'd talk during the speeches. Either that, or fall asleep…"

Sakumo couldn't help but notice an older gentlemen from the left side of the row of pews get up and come over straight across with a hunched back, but a purposeful walk; he came over and sat next to the old man in the brown clothes two rows ahead of them—they each looked back once, and then began to whisper in quiet and low voices, not even Sakumo could hear them. He could see the first gentleman's hand come back over his head towards his ear as if to amplify the sound, and then his head shook up and down, in a agreement of some kind. The second gentleman continued talking, and then a third older man in a green flannel shirt slid down in that very pew to converse with the two—he said something and the second man replied—the third man was able to catch his eyes from Kosaka and Sakumo's position, and instead, glance up at one of the windows on the far wall—his head came down, and with it, his green collar. When Sakumo did not think that whatever was so striking might conclude between the three, a fourth man in a blue shirt from two rows ahead of the old men moved back a row, and against courtesy, Sakumo could hear him ask, "Takashi, what in the world are you…That man? Well I don't know, who is that man?"

The hunched gentleman on the left (who was still half a head taller than the man beside him) raised a finger to his lips and said something completely inaudible. The blue-shirted man (who looked about Kosaka's age, if not a few years younger) cracked his neck in a ruse to look directly at Coushander's masked son with perfectly round, black eyes. The man then lowered his voice to the point Sakumo doubted even the fly on the wall could hear. The old man in the middle tugged his brown collar and wrung his left hand over his ear, shaking a bit in his brown clothes.

"Here he comes," Kosaka said.

Sakumo looked up and from out a room, or hallway on the left side, came another older gentleman in deep indigo clothes, and an old brown vest, patched with pockets and flaps and even red and green fishing lures. He took his place at the lone wooden podium in front of the brick wall and smiled at the men, and set his papers on the flat top. Before he spoke, he looked at the men casually, recognized the usual crowd, quite small, for this time of year, and he continued smiling until he saw Kosaka in the second to last back row where there were no people, and there was a white-haired man sitting beside him—the speaker did a double-take and looked again.

White hair, blue mask, beside stout Kosaka. The old man stared in a mixture of sudden shock and chill. His eyes grew wider and wider until he finally turned around, and walked straight back into the room he came out of.

"Must have forgotten something," Kosaka said.

"Mm…"

Suddenly, the old man peeped out of the doorway, and Sakumo knew the man was looking right at him. The man coiled around and disappeared into that hall.

"That was strange…" Kosaka remarked.

One of the men in the front row got up and followed their speaker, thinking it was odd behavior too. But all the men were slowly figuring out (and whispering and talking amongst themselves) that the delay was the result of Kosaka Shintaro and the mysterious reincarnation of Hatake Coushander.

Ten minutes went by.

"This is so unlike him," Kosaka remarked again. "I wonder what this is about."

"Mm…" Sakumo murmured again uneasily, staring at the back of the vacant pew in front of him.

As if on cue, the older gentleman with the younger man and with two middle-aged men came back out into the room. The old man in the vest paused briefly, before he was physically tugged at the arm, by the younger man. The two came to the rostrum, and then turned down the aisle. Sakumo shifted a little in his seat. Even Kosaka leaned forward curiously. The old man, the speaker (who looked as if he were nearly eighty, or thereabouts) hesitated, with a white and colorless face but continued, staring at the presumed, unmoving ghost. Together the two stopped before the pew holding the apparition, with all the men now looking on. Instinctively, Sakumo stood, and Kosaka as well, who looked on strangely, "Is there something wrong, Curtis?" he asked pointedly.

"Your name," the young man spoke for him.

"Hatake, Sakumo," he gave it.

"There, you see ojiisan? His _son_…correct?"

"Yes sir—I am."

"Oh!" Kosaka said, "This is Coushander's son. You remember, don't you?"

Curtis had not—at least not sufficiently enough. "Kosaka…" he croaked, "Never pull this shit again."

Kosaka was speechless, a smile frozen on his face and before he knew it, the old man was walked back to the podium, the grandson following, after an odd pause.

Sakumo and Kosaka sat back down.

Curtis arrived at the podium and shifted his papers.

The men looked between the back row, to the front, and spoke quietly amongst themselves. The two old gentlemen two rows ahead said nothing.

"Perhaps I should go…" said Sakumo, quietly.

"You'll do no such thing," Kosaka said firmly. "I wouldn't let you give him the satisfaction."

"Satisfaction…? I didn't know comfort was involved…"

"Curtis…" Kosaka's smile spread fluidly after a moment, "…Never liked your father," he finished quietly, in his ear. "The two never got along. Your father ticked him off once, and that was enough. But Curtis has been this group's speaker for…many, many years," Kosaka said. "And I never seen him quite like that…then again, you do look like your father," Kosaka grinned. "That was fun. I knew you shouldn't take your mask off," he chuckled.

"Well, thank you all…for…coming…" Curtis said slowly, and played with the mic just to buy time to calm himself. "I can see…everybody's here tonight, and I mean everybody," he muttered. "Yes sir indeed."

Kosaka waved his hand to be polite.

Curtis shuddered as if he were standing in an ice box. "Now, down to business," he said the men on his right, "The shinobi activities in the west are being reported as follows…"

Coushander usually plugged his ears at this point and began humming, but Sakumo had no such habit.

**.**

At the close of the meeting, Sakumo was talked to more than all three speakers combined. Many of the men had known his father well, and remembered him fondly, with smiles, and surprise, over the way his son had taken after the father in so many aspects. Kosaka smiled proudly like the miracle worker as they finally broke free outside, "You know we should do this more often, you and me. Are you free two weeks from today?" Sakumo laughed. "No, I'm serious," Kosaka continued thoughtfully, "That was fun," he grinned. "And I'm sure Curtis hasn't been that shocked in a while."

"Will he be all right…?"

"Surprise keeps everybody sharp, I think," Kosaka winked. "He'll be prepared for next time. Curtis had it coming. Don't feel guilty on his behalf. Who knows, you did him some good. It felt like the old days. You heard the men, they missed it too," Kosaka smiled. "That was fun," he said again, the smile wide on his face.

**.**

He laid awake that night in the front bedroom, his father's old room, staring at the taupe wood ceiling; his thoughts swirling around the course of the days events, and the people he met, until he eventually circumnavigated back around to his duty, waiting for him in the village. It'd been a whole month since he stood in Sarutobi's office. There was still the small voice, a little louder now who once again raised the question, _how can I go back…after this?_ Sakumo did not yet know. According to the deal, he still had fifteen more days, to decide.

**.**

…_It's hard work,_ he wrote. _It's not anything new. Thanks for worrying about me, but try not to. I'm all right. I can't believe it's been two years—my savings are almost done, but I think I'll get a good return to keep going. I guess you know me well enough that that's all I want right now. The garden is fantastic, I haven't had to buy too much except for apples (God those things are expensive); I almost passed them up, but don't worry, I didn't. I'm sorry if I still tease you. I tease myself, I think._

_Everything is growing good, and I finally started some work on the porch, you know, a few boards were loose. I bought two good cedar beams for the basement, and some more wood to fix the cellar and some closets upstairs; I've gone this place over with a fine tooth comb, and it's not as bad as I thought. I've got some more stain and wood sealer. The deck will look good with some sanding and a then a coat of it. With what's left over, I can do the shed out back. I know, I probably put it off far too long, but the field definitely came first, I got to pay off these monthly slips somehow—it's amazing owning my very own piece of land—I know you'd rather I was home, but I really like it here, it's been quiet and peaceful, besides all the work I have to do. I really like it, I do. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing my dad proud, starting over. I wish he were here right now, to see all this. I guess I know he already does; I just wish it sometimes._

_Speaking of my field, I finished the fence three days ago. (It better last) The land and that were my priorities—it's all finished. I used up the last of the old stain I bought, and believe it or not, I had some two by fours left over. No nails though. Took every one. But you know me now, I like to put fifty nails in everything, just like my dad. I'm going to go out and by some more when the money comes in. But, it's all repaired and finished. (Oh, everything's put away in that shed now, thanks for that gallon of paint. I can actually see in there, now that it's white. I put in the other window just yesterday, that helps too.)_

_Well, I think that's about it for now. Thanks for you letters, Matty, I really appreciate them. I'm sorry I can't write back as quick. Wish your parents well for me—I'm working on my own dream right now; please take care of yourselves. Stay safe, Matty._

_Yours, Coushander_

**.**


	35. Sweetheart, Darling of Mine

___Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 35  
_**Sweetheart, Darling of Mine**_

**.**

**.**

Monday night, he came home as fast as his legs could move him—"Hey sweetheart!" he was greeted, and she hugged him after he came in the door. He pulled away from her almost as quickly. "Did you finish your mission?"

"Yup," he said. "It wasn't too hard."

"Good, I'm glad—come in the kitchen, what would you like?"

"Mfph," he shrugged, following her. He looked up as he came before the doorway and stopped—"Sa…kumo!"

"Hey there—happy birthday."

"But—did you…"

"I got back today," Sakumo smiled. "…Fifteen," he said with a quick breath of awe.

Jiraiya grinned, as customary.

"You're going to be tall."

"Taller than you," Jiraiya said intuitively, "And I won't get my wrinkles," he smiled. "You'll be seventy, and I'll only be sixty!"

Sakumo laughed, "Oh that's great," he said. "Just what I was looking forward to. Hey, so have you heard back from that contest yet?"

"Nope," he said, taking a seat on the stool. "I don't know when I'll hear back, if at all…" His mother smiled at him while moving dishes around in the refrigerator. Jiraiya eyed his birthday cake on the bottom shelf. "I don't know, I don't care. I won one, that's enough for me, I think."

**.**

Come January, Jiraiya received a letter in the mail, and it said his story was chosen to be printed formally in a short book as an honorable mention to the category, along with the other winning entries. His mother was proud, but Jiraiya, however, was not—"I was beaten by a thirteen year old!" he said to his older brother. "A _girl!_ I knew it! I just _knew _it!"

Sakumo laughed. "But your story will be in the book, think of that."

Jiraiya grumbled. "She wrote about a quilt. A damn quilt!"

"It's _darn_, Jiraiya."

"Err!" he fumed, as he passed the copy of the book to his brother's hands. Jiraiya sat huffily on the porch swing. "Read it, it's perfect. It is _so_ perfect, and it so beat mine. But a quilt. A dumb quilt," he said, "I _knew_ it'd be something stupid. I lost to a girly quilt," he announced grumpily.

"Well then maybe you should embrace the poetic refuge of fabric and write about that next time. I bet the back stitch is quite moving. Hell, I sew," said Sakumo, smiling.

Jiraiya suddenly blinked away from his pitiful reverie—"You…what?"

"Sure," Sakumo was flipping through the pages to find the entry of his age group. "My—Our father used to mend his own clothes. I do it too."

"You _sew?!"_ Jiraiya repeated incredulously, as if the latter word were taboo.

Sakumo laughed, "Yes, Jiraiya, I sew. If it makes less of a man of me, so be it. But can I offer to make you a tablecloth…or perhaps you'd prefer a _quilt…?"_

"Augh!" Jiraiya let out a dismal cry of anguish.

"I've got scraps of many colors in a box downstairs…" Sakumo grinned at him.

Jiraiya punched Sakumo's arm. "Oh read it."

"I will if you quit hitting me."

Jiraiya pursed his lips glumly and kept silent, looking over his brother's shoulder every now and then as his ani read.

**.**

Since he had returned to work in middle October, Sakumo saw Yoshiko sparingly, only in passing which was used for conversation, but he felt compelled to walk with her those times to see her down the lane, toward home. The more he saw her, the more he liked her. And it grew easier for the two to speak candidly with each other, open and honest.

Since Teal's marriage four years ago (he was twenty-six) to the younger Keiko (the two had never grown apart, at least not for long), and since Sakumo's return from Kusa, he'd been beginning to feel that void of femininity in his life, while watching all of his comrades and colleagues with their happy families, seeming, on the outside, so easy to adjust back to their regular lives, as it moved on in various shapes and forms. But as he had expected, it was hard to guess a woman's character. In fact, it was more than hard, but arduous and even dangerous, as if a man were climbing Naga's mountain in the sky. Luckily, intuition did not desert him completely and leave him defenseless. He could go on general feelings or expressions, but emotions? That was something new. Since Kusa, he could not longer react based on the outcome; here in real life, he could_ find_ no definite outcome. That was the way it was meant to be, he supposed, but the waiting for fulfillment and resolution nagged at him more now than at any other point in time. After all, finding some companion was not a quick and easy task, unless he could have known someone he liked at a younger age, like his own father. Maybe he had been a captain for too long now, he wondered.

Come February, Sakumo left her flowers. He was no longer able to keep it secret from Kano, who deciphered the 'I was walking' talk to mean what it really meant. He asked her how she knew he'd been seeing someone, and she laughed, and merely said she was happy for him. And for a moment, he saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes; it could truly be the real thing like he was wishing for, or at least, he could have a friend who was simple and quiet enough as he.

Come March, he left her flowers again, and waited there on a Tuesday afternoon to give them to her. Since late last September, he'd known her for about six months. He met with her infrequently enough, all they did was walk down to the park to talk. But today, he offered if she might walk with him to see his home and land, for the first time. He told her that tomorrow, he was leaving on a month-long mission.

She agreed, and he walked her south, out the gates, and onto the roads and lanes; they took one that inclined, surrounded by a dense forest of trees, and it curved gently to the left. Finally, the trees cleared, and a patch of grass green appeared; a square of green with a short valley on both sides, a small brown house in the middle, and then trees and field beyond that. She could see an empty paddock on the left hand side, and an old grey open shed within it, empty.

"My gosh…" she said, "You…live here?"

Sakumo smiled. "I do."

"My…" she laughed quickly, and then looked again, at the brilliant, but tranquil sight. "It's beautiful," she said. "Amazing."

"Forty-two acres. I'm not sure how the crop will do this year, it's out in back," he led her across the lawn, and to the back, behind the old house. The winter wheat Sakumo had planted was, in spots, just beginning to get fourteen and fifteen inches high. He showed her the paddock, explaining about his father's only horse, and showed her the large garden that extended south and west, and of course, when they came back around, the old grey radio still sitting on the table.

He escorted her home, soon after, and then, the next morning, went in bright and early to receive the file from Hizuren.

"I thought you might like this," the brown-haired man said, sitting on the front of his recently cleaned desk. Sarutobi was in regular jounin clothes. The man was thirty-four. The blue light of dawn was just breaking over the treeline in the east; Sakumo turned the page and his eyes widened, "Oh my God—you're kidding!" He looked at the drawing further, for some time, internally analyzing every curve of line, and every shadow. "Oh my God," he repeated incredulously. "You're _kidding_."

"That's who she saw," Hizuren smiled. "I don't think there's a doubt about it. Looks exactly like your sketch, from ten years ago. It's the same man. Didn't age one line, did he."

Sakumo lowered the paper, and then looked at it again: a grey pencil sketch of Mohore stared back at him, with his ominous eyes and face unchanged.

"Shall I go find the sketch to compare?" Sarutobi grinned.

"No, no…"

"I've readied someone to go with you. He's waiting downstairs in the west office."

"Oh?" Sakumo finally looked up, "Who?"

"One of my students. Orochimaru."

"Oh."

"He's quite capable, I assure you."

Sakumo turned back to the front page, and looked it over once more. "All right," he agreed. "But, why him?"

Sarutobi glanced left, and then he glanced right in a show of confidentiality. He then leaned forward and said, "He idolizes you."

Sakumo blinked, completely taken aback by the words—"What?"

Hizuren nodded with a slightly crafty look across his face.

Sakumo smiled to himself, "Well…that's…odd…"

The hokage grinned.

"He must be a decent tracker…?"

"Oh yes—Orochi is skilled in many things, I could easily see him surpassing me one day. But the boy…Just has some issues, is all. You'd be a great influence rather than myself or any other jounin. He respects you. Orochimaru…" Hizuren thought, "Likes to solve certain things to definite ends. That's fairly hard to do in an indefinite world. He's also completely fascinated by ninjutsu. I think…he's a bit obsessed by it, at times. Too much for his own good."

"For a fifteen year old?"

"Oh don't tell me you weren't learning all you could," Hizuren teased. "No, Orochi is quite resolved," Sarutobi resumed. "But with you, and your land, your fields, you can really show him there's a little something more to life than ninjutsu."

"Oh of course," Sakumo understood him, and nodded. "Far more. Thank you Hizuren. I appreciate this."

"I appreciate it too. And if you do find that creep again, tell him I say 'hello, from the hokage's desk', would you?"

Sakumo smiled. "Certainly."

**.**

Jiraiya lived with jealously. It was a new companion for twenty-three days; it slackened the night of April seven. His ani (and his sly but auspicious teammate) had returned the previous night, so Jiraiya had been expecting to see Sakumo come down their lane that Friday, and so Jiraiya watched and waited for him, until dusk.

Sakumo came alone, hands nearly sewn into his blue pockets; Jiraiya observed his walk was slow; Jiraiya ran up to him instantly and hugged him. "Hey!" Jiraiya greeted, looking over his brother's face.

"Hey," Sakumo returned, smiling.

"How'd it go?"

Sakumo hesitated, "Um, interesting," he finally worded, to some degree. "How are you? How's your mother?"

"Fine—we're fine. So can you talk about it? Or is it classified?"

"It was, an unfinished case, from the past, more than anything."

"Why'd it take so long?"

"Long? I thought it was short…You try going to the border of tsuchi and ame at this time of year," Sakumo pointed towards his brother's smile. "_That_, is hard. It was…something."

"Was it successful?"

"Yes, hokage-sama," Sakumo saluted with a superficially abrupt expression.

Jiraiya smiled, and he turned, to walk down the lane with him, but he stopped midway and looked up at his older brother, "Hey, Sakumo, mom told me about you."

"Oh. Ok…What did I do?"

"No, I mean, I found out, that you met a girl."

"Oh is that common knowledge now?" Sakumo smiled.

"Who is she?" Jiraiya asked curiously.

Sakumo stuttered, "Well...She…" He stopped and looked at him inquisitively, "What's it to you?"

"Is it _serious_…?" Jiraiya was grinning like a maniac, with his dark eyes wide and probing, unable to hide the shrewd rose in his cheeks.

"Yes I think it's serious you're concerned," Sakumo teased and put an arm around his younger brother's shoulder.

Jiraiya guffawed as they walked towards the house, "Aw! You know!"

"We're friends, that's all."

"But _who_ is she?" Jiraiya persisted. "Is she pretty? Is she from here? Oh, and hey, tell me about the mission; how was Orochimaru…?"

Just before they came to the door, Sakumo stopped, "Isn't your mother home?"

"…Nope," Jiraiya walked up and opened the door, and let him inside.

"Hospital?"

"Nope…A _guy_. A guy invited her out. She said she'd be back by ten or ten-thirty."

"Oh…" Sakumo smiled. "I see."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Well do you like her? I mean, _like her_, like her?" Jiraiya imitated in girlish tone.

Sakumo groaned. "You have nothing else to do, have you?"

Jiraiya grinned. "I hid a truth seeker ninja in the refrigerator. You're not going anywhere! At least not until she gets home."

Sakumo smiled.

"Honestly, is _everybody_ seeing everybody…?" Jiraiya then began to repeat his questions in order of importance. He asked after Orochimaru.

**.**

"I met you a year ago," he said. It was a Sunday afternoon, early in September. The two stood together on the bridge, over the little river, snaking through the land like it had done times past.

She smiled, surprised he remembered so well. She caught herself before blurting something trifle, like, 'wow, time's gone by fast', when it wasn't wholly necessary. Her nervousness continued playing dumb tricks on her like that, and the fact that she seemed to talk when she was nervous was something passed down to her from her grandmother. But she smiled, waiting to see what would happen.

They could run out of conversation, in which case, he escorted her home, or they could talk on until the latter result happened anyway, in which case, Sakumo would walk home alone, feeling calmer somehow. Unless he said this; "Well, I wanted you to know, I will remember you when I leave tomorrow."

"…Oh?"

"Six in the morning, I'm leaving for tsuchi. It may be some time before I come back again. I can't tell you all the details," he smiled half-heartedly.

She frowned; "You just got back."

"I know. That's the way it goes. I'm sorry."

"Oh no—I mean, it's all right. I mean, I know who you are."

He turned and faced the other way, leaning his arms on the rail. "I'm sorry for who I am," he smiled to himself. He looked down the rail over the moving water and said the first thing that came into his mind. "I don't know why I was made this way, but, I have an obligation to use what skills I have, I suppose. You know…I nearly quit. It was in the neutral zone, north of suna," he confessed. "This was about eight years ago—I was eighteen. After that, it was the Divide, barely a year later. I realized I had to keep going, and use what I have. Because if I don't, they will. And if they will, I couldn't live with myself. It's responsibility, and it's duty. There's no other way," he said quietly.

"Thank you," she said, after a moment.

He glanced at her quizzically; she flashed a small smile, "For that. And for telling me. I appreciate it. And, I'll miss you. Be careful, will you?"

"It's a requirement in earth country," he smiled.

"Still…" her smile widened, "Please, take care."

He wanted to touch her face as she looked up at him, but instead he nodded, and began looking in all directions off his right with that smile melting away slowly like a sunrise over the mountains to which he'd travel. Sakumo looked at the river; "I'll try not to be gone long," he said, feeling worse after the comment. "…Could I…walk you home?"

She nodded. "Of course. I'd like that."

He went to Keiko-san and his younger brother to say goodbye later in the evening.

**.**

Jiraiya celebrated his sixteenth birthday alone—with his mother, of course. But Sakumo was not entirely far away; his letter arrived that day with a brand new brown leather wallet, smelling of earth country. Inside, Jiraiya found two yen, and a money clip.

A day later, somebody else received a letter, with no return address. It was marked from tsuchi, a northern district, and she read that it was getting cold up there (the days were only fifty degrees, usually), and that he missed his father's field, and that, he also missed her. _As reported,_ he wrote, _everything is secure now. I'm actually writing from a safe house in the mountains. It's quite something. I wish you could see it. I can try my hand at the bottom of the page here, but I'm a bit rusty on the talent. The early mornings, and the dusks are pure fog; the stuff comes billowing through the brown rocks and evergreen trees. The little log cabin is small, the man who owns it is a red-headed ex-samurai. He's a very kind man, bit older than myself. He lives alone, but keeps in contact with a few bands of iwa shinobi. I'm bound to stay here for another could days until I can stand to travel. Until I'm on the road home after wherever they send me next, please take care of yourself. Yours, Hatake Sakumo._

His small drawing tucked in the bottom corner showed the cabin, quite detailed, with a high mountainous background, typical of the land of earth. The impressionistic view made her smile, and feel as if she were missed.

**.**

She did not see him return until spring, when the injuries of facing Yonbi had healed and his talent was being appreciated beyond his care for it. After restraining the loose beast, "Kimon was the one to seal it, in the new host," Sakumo said. "Rather a young kid with a knack for sealing jutsu. Very talented."

She looked at him for a long time, and listened aptly to the tone of his voice, inflecting, tacitly reminding himself of every detail in the battle, heavy of the experience no one else she knew in the village could share and laugh with (should anyone find humor in facing a giant, irritated ape) in a tavern on some lonely, cold night. She could sense that inexplicable burden he carried—it was like she were talking with the hokage (at least he might smile about it)—Sakumo could not even offer a half-hearted one properly.

"How many bijuu have you faced…?" she wondered aloud, praying she might not regret the question.

"Well…" he thought for a moment, "It's a formed opinion in history, Hachibi, the kyuubi, Shukaku, and even Nibi are the most wild…Shichibi and Yonbi, are plain tenacious," he nodded.

There was a distant cold dark amber in his eye, and she looked away: she'd seen enough.

**.**

"There's no talking to him," she said despondently, giving up her hope and smiles. "He's on a different level."

Her friend grinned. "No no no," Yoshiko demanded, "Don't look at me like that. It's true. Maybe I was just fooling myself to admit it…"

"What?" Azami recoiled. "I've known you since infancy—you still like him."

"I can hardly talk to him. I'm nothing to him."

"But you like him."

"Oh…"

"You're lucky to _know_ him," her friend reassured.

"Well…" she lost her train of thought. "…_You_ try talking to him then," she turned. "You'd be lost within first minutes. It's impossible. He's seen so many things, outweighing anything I could have ever hoped to have seen with Sarin."

"My uncle has seen a lot."

"But not me. And more than Shiroi Kiba?" Yoshiko shook her head. "He put away—" she changed the tone of her voice and said quietly, "He put away Yonbi. With just the sealer on hand, and two Iwa genin."

Azami grinned. "Instant protection," she whispered back. "You don't have to buy one of those security sealing sets they advertise, and then go back and sue the company when they fry the nerves in your hands right off."

Yoshiko rolled her eyes.

"Aw come on. Give him a chance. He's only human."

"Really? Did the jury decide?"

Azami smiled. "Lunch break is over. Back to work."

"Oh—um, yeah. Bye."

"Don't let him go," Azami said as a final piece of advice, "At least not yet. Not until you know what he's after," she said with a teasing smile.

"Well I don't think I have a tailed beast inside me, I'd have known that…They'd have told me," she sighed, unsure of her relationship.

**.**

Two days later, she reluctantly recalled, "He was standing right there on the bridge as I went home. I wanted to run away that instant. But he'd been waiting there for me…With flowers," Azami smiled, but Yoshiko rested her head between her hands. "Oh what should I _do?!"_

"Did you accept them?"

"Well, yes. They were from the fields."

"Weelll…" her friend cooed. "Isn't _he_ romantic!"

"Shh!!" Yoshiko instantly shushed her, "Not so loud!"

Technically, she didn't belong in the teachers' lounge since she was an assistant. But she took lunch with Azami there anyway, as it wasn't in the rules nor was it against them. And since Sakumo was still in the picture in her life after he returned, it only kindled the conversation where the blaze was found more in Azami's voice than her own.

Her friend giggled. "He's certainly thoughtful."

"He is. He's also Shiroi Kiba. What am I to do?!" she asked lowly.

"Look at him as a _man_, and not as ninja."

"How?"

"Just try."

"But, I—I did that in the start, but, he's just way out of my league, and I don't know what he's doing with somebody like me—"

"Then talk to him how you first met him."

"I do! I try! We try! We talk about Konoha, about, his field, my work—"

Azami looked at her expectantly.

"—His work…I guess…he's so reluctant to talk about it. I don't have to imagine why…" She looked up suddenly, "What?" she asked incredulously.

Her friend smiled.

"Why me," she wondered aloud. "Why me. I'm not pretty. I'm not even a chuunin. I don't have any—"

"And do you think, after all of this time, he's been examining rank?"

"Well…no…"

"There, so why should you?"

"But—" she suddenly lost her fight.

"So?" Azami reiterated.

"He's…" she tried to describe. "Oh, I don't know…He is sweet."

"Do you like him?"

Yoshiko held her breath.

"Besides the fact he's the most popular and recognizable jounin, next to the hokage, in the entire village, and among the five great nations."

"Oh God…" she blushed. "Um…yes…?"

"Well then. Does he deserve your unkind act of relationship termination?"

"No…" she sighed. "It's just, after he came back, it's been in the back of my mind, that's all. I don't know…what to do. What he does…how he does it…and more importantly, how it affects him. He, well he doesn't hate what he does, but he does it out of duty, and responsibility. He's happiest, I think, when he's just living a normal life… But I've never faced odds like he has, not in a group like Sarin's, so I… Sure we did relief acts, but we never held up deep in the mountains of iwa and tackle Yonbi for four days. And it's more than that, it's all of his record. You know it. He's been on so many top-rank assignments; the list must be as long as Konoha. I understand he might be trying to settle down, but I don't know if I'm that, or what. He doesn't have much family. His parents passed on when he was young—he has a stepmother—I don't know what he has of comrades, he must know every jounin in Konoha. I just don't know. And I can't believe he ran into _me_, of all people," She met her friend's attentive stare, and Yoshiko looked down. "I think—I know he's fond of me, but…"

A moment passed in silence.

Azami leaned back for a time and looked on with a steady gaze, holding in a warm grin. "Welcome to that thing they call a relationship, girl. I think it's serious."

Yoshiko turned her head for a moment as a warmth spread underneath her cheeks, flushing them a rose color. She smiled strangely. She couldn't deny the fact that she did like him. Very much.

"Oh yeah. It's serious." Her friend grinned.

**.**

"Romanticism. Is there a cure?"

"Too soon to be asking. No. I believe there's a coping mechanism. I assume you're talking about someone else," he leered.

"I am," the other boy affirmed. "And I don't mean to cope; I mean to convince!"

"Tell them. Have you told him?"

"No, but I'm sure he must know about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well. Admitting your problem is the first step of any recovery. He must feel accomplished."

Jiraiya gave him a quizzical look.

"The true romantic is flattered by other romantic acts..."

"No no no no no—I'm not talking about a girl!" Jiraiya exclaimed.

Orochimaru's pale face framed by his raven hair looked taken aback. "Oh," he said inanimately, "Well that is a first."

Jiraiya waved his hands in frustration, "No, no, I—" He suddenly suffered a spasm of doubt as to whether he could really divulge the true nature of his situation to his teammate. Jiraiya shook his head and re-grouped; "Orochimaru—I'm having a problem."

"So we _are_ talking about yourself."

"No!" Jiraiya exclaimed fervently, and unwillingly succumbed to divulge parts of his story; "It's about the mission I'm going on in three weeks, in April. And—and you know, Sarutobi said I could pick somebody else to be on the team. It's Sakumo—" Orochimaru's yellow eyes widened. "—But it's not Sakumo, either, I mean, he's…why the heck are you looking at me like that." Jiraiya stared back flatly.

The raven-haired boy gave a brief flicker of a smirk on his face. "Hm. Perhaps I should ask Shiroi Kiba if he might stick around in the clerical office for me. I'm sure he is excellent at numbers. And maybe," Orochi continued to the tone of Jiraiya's displeasure, "I will ask him to stay two hours in my place. I'm sure he has nothing else to do."

"Orochi—I'm being serious."

"You are incapable of being serious, Jiraiya. Asking Hatake Sakumo to go with you, that's absurd. That is probably the most improper thing you could do. It's offensive and disrespectful. It's nothing to kid about."

"You just did."

The sixteen year old gave a disinterested roll of his eyes. "You're on your own you crazy fool."

"Fine. Screw you. I'll just ask him myself."

Orochimaru looked down. "And for the record, I warned you against inorderly conduct. For whatever state he's in, I hope he gives you latrine duty in the hokage tower for just the thought it."

"You think crazy thoughts should be banned, Orochimaru?"

"No. Just the stupid ones."

The other sixteen year old shrugged his shoulders toward home at five o'clock in mixed moods. He finally smiled to himself as he turned down his lane and saw his house, with the grass field and trees to the right. He greeted his mother after he came in the door and asked after dinner in a sly way; "Can I have time enough to see Sakumo? I wanted to ask him about taki."

"Sure sweetheart," his mother smiled.

"Aw mom, why do you have to call me that."

She simply grinned at him and winked.

He rolled his eyes and hurried back out the front door, jogging on the dirt road, passing the green field in a rush. Jiraiya made it onto the north-south road and headed south about a quarter mile until coincidence appeared on the path, heading north—Jiraiya stopped, "Sakumo! I wanted to see you!"

"Well, I was just on my way to see you."

"Sakumo, I have something to tell you."

"So do I," his older brother smiled.

"You first," the two said in unison.

"You first," Jiraiya fidgeted, watching his brother's smile widen curiously.

Sakumo took up the pause with almost the same unrehearsed alacrity as his brother, "Jiraiya," he said slowly," I've gotten engaged."

After a second, Jiraiya's mouth slowly dropped open. "WHAT?!"

"I'm engaged," he said again, "I've proposed."

"Ohh…" Jiraiya let out a long exhale. "No…That's…no way…That's not a good idea…"

Sakumo looked at him strangely.

"Ohh…" Jiraiya turned his head away. "Why?!" he moaned to the woods.

"Because…" Oddly, it felt like one of those times Sakumo had to stop suddenly and scrutinize his next few thoughts into an answer that might assuage whatever disagreement and disgust Jiraiya had with Sakumo's proposal, which he had convinced himself (after hours upon hours of consideration) was worth a try to a woman he sincerely loved. Trouble was, Sakumo could not fundamentally understand why Jiraiya would object to a sister-in-law. But after a few awkward moments, Sakumo glanced away briefly and said the first think that came into his mind, "Because I am determined to make your life as miserable as I possibly can. Have I succeeded?"

Jiraiya let out a furious groan—"You_ do_ this to me _every _time!"

"Mm, I guess I've made many marriage proposals in my lifetime, not one of them ended as well as this one did…"

Jiraiya spun around, ashamed he actually found some quick and fleeting humor in his brother's sarcasm. Jiraiya gulped down the smile and focused on his anger. "You do this every time," he said again in a low mutter.

"What? What have I done?"

"Fallen in love!" Jiraiya threw his hands up as if to end it. "There's always some silly excuse!"

"Excuse? I just happened to—what's going on? What do you need me to do? I'll do it." he offered.

"Nevermind!" he burst, and walked back down the path.

"Oh come on…" Sakumo muttered, "Grow up."

The closing two words, no matter how low they were said, sent Jiraiya on the run.

To his treehouse.

**.**

"DON'T even ASK."

Orochimaru showed his inimitable smirk under his piercing cat eyes. "Make sure you get in those grout lines, eh?"

"OH SHUT UP," Jiraiya slapped him.

Orochimaru returned fire.

Vice-versa.

Perhaps that cemented Orochimaru, in Sakumo's place.

**.**

"Did you see your brother? How'd he take it?"

"It was strange," They crossed the bridge. He was walking her home. "You were an only child," he suddenly stated. Yoshiko smiled a little and shrugged. "So was I. Sort of," he said. "And Jiraiya and I were born far enough apart that I knew every single thing about his childhood, because I'd already lived it. But yet…I can't remember being that hard-headed..."

She grinned, "Take a look in the mirror," she said lowly.

He laughed. "Hm."

"So…what, he's…opposed?"

"Ardently."

"Come to think…" she suggested, "You know, I've never met him yet. Maybe I could talk to him."

Sakumo shook his head slowly, "That may not be the best idea. For now, anyway."

**.**

"Mom, what was it like, going to the land of mist for two years?"

Keiko blinked in surprise. "…Mist. Fog. Quite a land. Why do you ask? Planning a trip?"

"No. Just wondered," he said nonchalantly. "I was thinking about that diary your captain kept—I want to read it."

Her expression grew dimmer and even-set. "Jiraiya, you're never to tell anyone about that diary."

"Oh I know," he readily announced. "I just want to read it. I'll keep it to myself."

"Jiraiya," she said calmly, "You're not ready."

"…What? But why? I'm sixteen!"

"You're not ready," Kano enforced steadily. "You're not mature enough—" He rolled his eyes demonstratively in protest. She eyed him sternly. "Don't ask about it again."

"But! Aw, so when can I read it? When I'm forty?"

She smiled. "As a matter of fact, that's sounds about the right age."

Jiraiya groaned.

**.**

Sakumo stood looking at the back wall on a two page hanging, featuring a brilliant but dark picture of the woods near the larger Senju memorial in the land of fire, it was the picture for Sangatsu. The bottom half was a perfect black-lined grid of squares, with imperfect black writing in nearly every box. "Do you have your anniversary marked on there?" Sakumo asked him idly.

Sarutobi blinked and looked behind him and then squinted uncomfortably. "I never thought of that," he said, rising out of the chair with an old pen. He turned a few of the pages forward and began to think for a moment upon the month he turned to. He then remembered and wrote in a box. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you can write mine on there too, if you like."

Sarutobi stopped and turned, suddenly bewildered. "What! Sakumo? I had no idea!" He walked forward, shocked and surprised with a funny smile.

"Good," Sakumo returned the smile. "I prefer to keep it that way."

Sarutobi beamed at him like an older brother, at a loss for words until he grinned, "Congratulations!...Who is she?" Sakumo smiled again and Sarutobi insisted, "No, no, tell me! When did you…?"

"I'd ask to keep the details for now," said Sakumo, "I proposed to her a week ago. We've decided to be married in September."

"September!" Sarutobi exclaimed. "By all means!" He stretched out his hand, and Sakumo took it. "Congratulations," Hizuren said again with nothing short of an enthusiastic grin. "God," he nodded, "I'm glad."

"Well, I'm happy she said yes."

"How could she not!" Hizuren teased as their hands parted.

"…Oh," Sakumo remembered his speech, "Sir, I do hope you appreciate that this is privileged knowledge, known only to myself, my fiancé, and my family. I wish it to stay that way…for as long as possible."

Sarutobi laughed. "Yes. Good luck. I promise not to say a word. But if your Jiraiya knows, he may let it slip casually. He's going to taki in a couple weeks, you know how much they love you there—"

"…What?"

"...Oh, he didn't tell you?"

Sakumo frowned. "So that's what upset him. Hm. If you'll excuse me, I should go see him."

Hizuren nodded, turned back for the maple desk. He stopped mid-way as Sakumo reached the door; "Hey, by the way, did you think of a clever way to ask the question…?"

Sakumo smiled. "I lost my jackknife. She helped me look for it in the wheat field."

Sarutobi grinned in silence for the remainder of twenty minutes. After which, he went home to see his wife. And his four year old son.

**.**

Sakumo opened the door on his brother's cluttered bedroom. "Hello."

After the cold chill of the surprise, Jiraiya looked away uncomfortably.

Slowly, Sakumo sat on the edge of the bed. "Who's your captain?"

"Masuda," Jiraiya mumbled the name after a pause.

"Good man."

Jiraiya kept his gaze on the green sheets. "I…had…been hoping…"

"Hm?"

"Nothing," Jiraiya said.

"Jiraiya," said Sakumo, "I can't go on missions with you. I'm sorry."

Jiraiya twisted the line of his mouth.

"I can help you in every other way," Sakumo looked upon him earnestly. "But if right now, someone knew you were my brother, someone outside Konoha, there would be a bounty on your head and a message to my name. I've made enemies, Jiraiya. Quite a lot of them, actually. And the reverse is true of you, as well."

Jiraiya stayed silent for a moment. "I just wanted once. One time."

Sakumo smiled. "Well. We'll work it out," Jiraiya looked up at him. "When you surpass me down the road, I'll be the one to risk my life. I promise."

Jiraiya looked down and smiled oddly, "…So…that's when I'm forty?"

"Hey, I'll be fifty. You'll be showing around an old man."

Jiraiya's smiled widened, and he nearly laughed.

"They may have to retire me."

"They'll never retire you."

"Not unless I do first," Sakumo said with a wistful smile.

Jiraiya looked at him curiously; "You'd quit?"

"I would."

"Why?"

"For my—for our father's land. When the five kage sit down and make peace, I'm there, full time. Not just in spring and fall."

"When the five kage make peace…" Jiraiya didn't know how to finish the fragment. "So then, you won't retire."

Sakumo smiled. "Never say never."

**.**

The couple were wed early in September. Jiraiya was in Kumo with Masuda, Orochimaru, and a handful of other men. Ichida Takato, long retired from field duty, and on break from office duty was there with his wife and Kano, whom he sat next to, with her eyes glistening almost as incandescently white as the bride's cotton dress and the widow Mrs. Mizue. Vows were said; pictures were taken, and in simplicity and secrecy the couple fled, to hide away their happiness. Come the end of September, Yoshiko knew every inch of that house. Come the end of November, she knew every inch of the land. The jackknife remained lost to it.

**.**


	36. The Land, The Sail, and The Pen

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**.**

**.**

Chapter 36  
_**The Land, The Sail, and The Pen**_

**.**

**.**

The idea had been building in his head since his visit to taki and kumo. And with the world view from those missions widening his mind's eye and offering definition to the scope of the world's ruggedness (and loftiness), Jiraiya, predictably, wouldn't mind seeing more. And that more contained the names of the deserts of suna, the mountains and land of tall, brown tsuchi, and hidden, cold, and misty kiri.

And when Jiraiya turned eighteen, the sage toad named Fukasaku called him in via reverse summoning to the great and big land of the _kaeru_ and all other amphibians, aquatics, and arachnids. The respected elder of the toads called the boy in to hear about a dream the _great_ elder of the land had dreamed about the young man, increasingly tall and broad-shouldered with white hair in cut just like his father (his mother's doing). It was a prophecy. And since it was not yet proven true, it was a metaphor, and since it was a metaphor, it solidified the separation of his path from his older brother's, promising hopes and dreams of his own. "Find meaning in it, young lad," small but spry Fukasaku enforced before they entered the chamber. "And if you don't, fake it!" He scratched his little beard over his red cloak. "Do you understand?"

"Understanding is not required. Only obedience. You taught me that," Jiraiya smiled slyly down at the toad.

"Heheh. You're right," Fukasaku smiled adoringly. "Now follow me!" he snapped instantly, and turned on his webbed foot, and hopped along the path in front of the eighteen year old.

**.**

"Sakumo has his field mom, and I can write—sort of."

"I could have told you that, sweetheart, oh put that down!" she exclaimed, her right hand fidgeted under her chin.

"Mom…" Jiraiya smiled. "I'm leaving."

Those two little words sent her heart in a frenzied flurry of infinite love and loss. Her eyes stung as if they were cruel words, or sad words, and glistened like they were learned words. Her lips smiled shakingly with the absolute heartache of grief and the foreign, distant comfort, of a job well tried.

"I'm going to take my leave and back-pack around the land of fire," he said lightly and innocently. "I was hoping to go to Suna, too…"

"Don't you get lost," she said. "And…come back to me, understand?"

"I will," he said cheerily. "I promise."

"I love you, sweetheart," she said, with a sob in her throat.

That day, she gave him a letter, before he left. It was not postmarked, and it did not have a stamp or return address; it merely bore his name in black kanji with rai in the center, and the back was sealed with two numbers in the centre: 18. Curious, Jiraiya opened it to read,

_Jiraiya, Your mother has instructed me _not _to begin this letter with 'if you remember me,' so I will instead move on from that and say hello to you as you are now eighteen years old, and as she persuaded me, your eighteenth birthday demands something. I wrote your brother in this context (also by her prodding—this was all her idea), so now it's your turn. At present, you're five years old—I'm sure in your mother's eyes, you will never change. That's a wonderful way to look at people. When you're a parent, you will have eyes like that. But at eighteen, you're coming out of adolescence, and into who you will be. And though...I think undoubtedly you will follow in your brother's footsteps, you are quite different from him—but the truth is still simple. Whenever I look at you, I see your uncle. Your mother can see it too. And even though I'm sure you're quite mature right now, you will always be our 'little monkey'._

_I used to know many legends, Jiraiya, but I never knew yours until your mother brought out her old textbook from when she attended school as a girl. The reason why I didn't know this legend was because first of all, my brother and I never formally attended the academy; we were both given what they called 'field' sensei. And two, for the second half of my life, forgetting all things shinobi was, primarily, the only thing that held together the shards of my sanity. By now, you know that story. From both your brother, and your mother. And I will tell you the same thing I've told your mother, I'm sorry for never waking up sooner. Granted, you were exceptionally young when I began to come around and face my demons. You were not even one year old, in fact, you were just born. Grief has a mysterious hold over people, Jiraiya. Very mysterious, and very precarious. Do not invite it in. If it stays too long, it will control you in ways you would never imagine. It can harden you like stone, it can throw you out on the ground like water, where all your goodness and decency dries up. Never forget, and never ever abandon the people around you. Your true friends will always be there to help you and comfort you. It was a gesture I ignored, so take a hint from your very old man and never be ignorant in the face of simple kindness. I know that's hard to do sometimes, swallowing mountains of pride and such, but I think by now, your brother could teach you._

_Finally, I must add this. Your mother will never tell you this, but I did not expect the event of the stork that dropped you on her door all those years ago. I was quite furious she'd been in contact with the bird, but now that I see you, five years old, and with hair like mine, I wouldn't trade you for anything this world could offer. You are loved, by both of us. And you constantly reminded me of the legacy my brother did leave. In turn, I could eventually accept it. Your mother will have given so much devotion to you when I'm gone; I hope you can say thank you to her not just for your sake, but for mine. I raised your older brother by myself, for a few years, and look how poor a job I did. Your mother is not like me, thank God. She is a well of strength and fortitude, I hope you never feel ashamed to go to her when you're troubled. She is a very strong woman, Jiraiya, do not underestimate her, or what she can handle. And you should know, also, I loved her. She knows this now. When we were younger, I looked on her as a young girl whom I had to protect; she was sweet and kind. I volunteered myself for the job when we were on the ship to Kiri. Dalzen was too uncaring (understatement), Ichida was quite shy, and I think my brother was busy protecting us all from ourselves. But somewhere along the line, I noticed she cared about me. And finally, our team began to have a little bond towards the end. I can remember thinking at one point, when all of it would be over, I might go back to the village and get to know her better. But, it never worked out like that. I was left in shambles and your mother and I never met again until I was forty-eight. By that particular time, loneliness and solitude got to me. Never invite that cold thing in, either. No matter how much I had denied it to myself whenever we met, I did love her in return. If you ever find yourself in love with a woman, Jiraiya, treat her well, and as I told Sakumo, I hope you're focused on other goals right now. This is nothing. You have your whole life ahead of you, yet. Make the most of it—I have a feeling you will if you've got your uncle looking after you. There are numerous roads down through life, meet them all and never stray. Say goodbye to your friends properly, when need be, and never hide away. Welcome those who come after you, and always remember the place from which you came. Visit home, once in a while, and see your mother. Please do that. She will always love and care for you, no matter what. Be safe, Jiraiya, and be patient with your older brother when he begins to grow senile ten years before you do. By then, I hope you both will be living the life you want, with no, or as little regrets and hardships as possible. So, you're eighteen—happy birthday, and hope you're on your way. With love, your father._

**.**

"Watch yourself," urged Sakumo with concern deep in his dark eyes.

Jiraiya laughed, "Aw, nobody knows _me_, Sakumo."

"I have a feeling they _will_ after this little trek of yours," Sakumo said, looking up at his brother fondly.

"Relax. I'll be ok."

Jiraiya was tall; the top of his shoulders standing an inch and a half over Sakumo's own. Shiroi Kiba even suspected his otouto might grow a little taller yet on his journey. "Well," said Sakumo sentimentally. "Take care. I mean it," he looked him in the eye.

Jiraiya smiled. "Thanks. I will."

Across a year, he roamed.

He satisfied his mother, brother, and sister with letters from his first stops in the arid but interesting border towns of Suna in late December, when Jiraiya packed up his things and headed out. Jiraiya surpassed them all for the sandy innards and golden dunes with the hot, glittering days of magic and time. He met with cactus, mud, and stone, and the columns and architecture of the old wind regime, still wasting away in the cities and towns. The catacombs of the beige cities were mostly empty, save the whispers of those past, parching his throat and fostering his thirst for shade further north, toward a mountain, stripped of the mining days, still standing, forgotten or not. From there, he flipped a coin and took the Ame side and endured high altitudes over cities built in steel and iron ore, sprawling across the land like grey square monsters with old railroad tracks like quilted stitching piecing them all together like patchwork. The monster's eyes were visible at night with orange, yellow, and white lights blinking at night for the cities, shops, and homes. A multitude of silver stars blanketed the sky and it was there on a high round top hill near the grey and rusted inn, Jiraiya opened his notebook for the first time and wrote, at length, the odd transition between sand and rock and steel. He smiled when he was finished, and wondered about his family, and then walked back to fall soundly asleep under the grey covers.

He stayed longer in the land of rain than in dry suna. But as the rains of the season ushered in, growing heavier like an unwelcome, persistent guest, he left the grey mist and roamed north. A rugged land rose up from the hills, and he stared tsuchi in the face across the borderline. He crossed that jagged line in April, being greeted into the mountains and large stretches of spring green plateaus where shepherds still herded sheep and some of the men hunted bison and birds.

There was warm sun down in valleys, and one lazy afternoon Jiraiya sat underneath a fruitless but white flowering apple tree near the little stream and admired the tranquility with his dark eyes, sitting there idly with his ruled notebook open with not a word on either page, and a black pen motionless in his right hand. He began to daydream; he'd come there as a simple vagabond, and his destiny was as curiously shady as the grey scenes he'd just left, when he suddenly saw a princess (for she must have been) come floating down the river, her simple golden curls glowing amid the backdrop of the tall green hills, her beautiful white robes holding a scent of balsam and pine: a daughter of a daimyo in the northern province, one with dirt under her nails when her father wasn't looking to prove to herself she was just as capable as any coal man with handsome soot in his eyes. Jiraiya had the dark coal color in his eyes, but none of the other qualities to catch her eye until she stopped suddenly and smiled at him with pink lips and cheeks; her eyes a beautiful honey-brown. Jiraiya studied them and quickly convinced he was completely infatuated, he returned the smile and his pulse raced as she gracefully walked forward, an object in her hands now definable; a pink flower as sweet and thin as she. Jiraiya looked up with excitement. "Hello," she said, her voice gentle, but strong. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

"I'm just passing through," said Jiraiya, dreamlike.

"Do you have a warm place to stay?"

Jiraiya shook his head. "Nowhere but here."

"Then perhaps," she knelt down with pleasure and warmth in her honey brown eyes, "You will sleep in the embrace of my arms…"

Jiraiya was suddenly beaten awake with the bottom end of a wooden shepherd's hook—"Ow! Ow ow!" The eighteen year old fell over with a confused start. "Ow! Hey, stop!"

The old shepherd looked at him with an uneven, suspicious brow. "I thought I told you Tamora boys to stay off my land."

"Hey, I'm not one of them, I'm just traveling though! Do you have to beat me for that?!" Jiraiya said defensively and closed his notebook.

"What's your name?"

"Jiraiya."

"Oh. Well. I'm awfully sorry, Jiraiya. Now. Get off my land."

"Ok! Ok!" Jiraiya rose up, his left hand behind his head. He soon lowered it for the bruise on his shoulder. "I'm going," he announced huffily.

He took his things and began walking to follow the stream north.

The man pointed south. "Ame is back that way, boy."

"I know!" said Jiraiya. "I'm not going back that way, I've just come from there. I'm heading north."

The man regarded him for a moment. And just as Jiraiya began walking again, the man stopped him again with his words, "That way leads to Nichito."

"…So?"

"That city is as corrupt as the night. I'd stay away if I were you."

"Well, I'll probably fit right in then," Jiraiya smiled smartly, not heeding the warning.

"Suit yourself," the shepherd said.

Jiraiya turned away and did.

With the evening sun rising over the soaring brown mountains in the distance, so Jiraiya arrived in a town as quiet like fallen snow; cold, but dark, just like the man foretold. Jiraiya tried giving the small inn he checked in at a good impression; the hall and anteroom were lit warmly enough with kerosene oil lamps and one or two overhead electric lights, but the people both in and outside seemed preoccupied with their own affairs and business. "Will you take dinner, sir?" the small clerk asked, and he was exceptionally small and light, compared to Jiraiya's height.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, sir."

The small man with a head of light auburn color hair led him into a dining room where a few equally small bands of men were gathered near the wooden round tables of the parlor, most of which seated in a line at the bar. There was a patio that led off on the left that caught Jiraiya's attention. It was secluded by two beautifully carved sliding doors with two frosted glass inserts a piece, small rectangles of glass shown a soft blue like with motifs swirling in the glass like the curves of swans—something Jiraiya had never seen before. "Would you like a table, sir?"

"Oh—no, no thank you."

The clerk seemed to shrug abruptly, and with a slight low stoop as if his ankle pained him, he turned around and returned to the small lobby to sit and rest.

Seeing no signs of forbidden entry, Jiraiya opened one of the doors and looked out; the deck was built over the green plateau, and as the light-blue painted wood rails chained together around in a rectangle fourteen foot in front of him, it looked as if Jiraiya were on the last heights of the earth before the land rose in the horizon, with a great and deep depression in front of him, stretching on for miles, a great forest green dip in the land that seemed to carry the breath of mist and fog of the steel cities down south like a river of voices. The deck was small before this grand outlook, and the faded blue paint lent itself to the wood of the floor, showing rusted brown heads of nails, showing it's age. There were wooden chairs on that deck, three on the east end, and three on the west end, where Jiraiya was looking at the blue dusk and deep valley with nothing short of wonder. But two men sat on the west end, very still and calm, as if they were mere decorations to enhance the old character (or believability) of the inn. One was quite aged, at least as old as the shepherd Jiraiya had met, if not a little older. The old man wore a faded straw hat with a black trim just above the flap; his brown cane leaned against a small circular side-table on his left. There was a short grey tuff of beard on his shaded face, his eyes looked small, and his collar and clothes resembled that of a seaman's. His outer jacket was navy, with a single brass button on the cuff.

The other man on his right was considerably younger with auburn-brown hair and thin auburn brows. His clothes were brown and worn. He greeted Jiraiya after a moment with polite interest and looked again curiously, yet his dark eyes were soft and steady. "Don't think I've seen you here before."

"You haven't," Jiraiya smiled. "I'm just passing through."

The young man smiled and lowered his voice. "Nobody passes through this town without a half dozen ninja weapons in their pockets and a steely eye for somebody, or something. You come prepared?"

"Maybe," was all the response Jiraiya could think of. "You?"

The man smiled, and he held out a hand toward the empty chair near him. Jiraiya sat and the man said, "Not hardly. And that's what'll probably get me killed..."

Once again, though the man seemed infinitely kinder and openly honest than anyone he'd met so far, yet Jiraiya could not shake the feeling he too had his own preoccupation. "Forgive me," the man said, "My name is Ryouma. And this is my uncle, Yamashita-san."

Jiraiya nodded to him, as the old man looked at something to Jiraiya's right, but he did not move. After a pause the old man's beard seemed to twitch and he spoke, "Yamashita, Taro. Pleased to meet you," he said, with little feeling in his raspy voice. "Are you from the government?"

"No," Jiraiya answered.

"Hm," the old man did not move or blink. "This is my adopted nephew, Morita Ryouma. He is pleased to meet you, too."

Ryouma grinned. "Uncle was a sailor. He rode every ship off the north coast before the local lords began shutting down the private enterprises."

"Ruffing rascal thieving kneiving scoundrels," the old man inserted.

"He got lucky enough to keep on the old Fujino lighthouse in the port town up there, but got arrested for keeping his ferry service…"

"Damn soulless communal reckless hounds," the old man said again with feeling, keeping his small little eyes somewhere between the two young men. "I say, I say, I followed the stars and walked the stairs for over fifty years of my life, walking 'round the spiral coast, happy as could be. Now they tell me the best way to help society is to die! that they do! Rats!" he said. "Dirty callous rats who once prayed my white sail would hold as they hid below deck lest the typhoon swallowed them up into it's dark and merciless cloud. Animals," Yamashita finished bitterly, unblinking.

"Uncle is very passionate about the current state of affairs. Private property is next, I'm afraid."

"Oh poor mother's grave. Lost to a daimyo. Or worse. A shinobi."

"A shinobi?" Jiraiya inquired.

"Well with what rate the military of Iwagakure is expanding, shinobi are everywhere these days…don't you know?"

"…Doing what?"

"Quien sabe?" Ryouma offered with a shrug. "It's anyone's guess. I hope we don't invade somebody," he smiled dimly.

The old man finally shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair; Jiraiya did not know which had creaked louder; the chair, or his bones. He frowned, glaring at whatever he was looking at. "We invade_ them_," Yamashita said. "Then we call the whole thing off, apologize, and seclude ourselves. I can reach the ships via the light. They'll bring prisoners to the daimyo house, and then we'll set tsuchi straight."

"Forgive us," Ryouma smiled; "You must think this is radical talk."

"No…" Jiraiya thought, unaware of the problems in tsuchi listed by these two country natives. "Not…entirely…"

"We must beat them," Yamashita said stoutly. "Trick a sailor once, he will fall into the sea. Trick a sailor twice, he will take you in with him. Then we will learn if you can swim."

Ryouma smiled in something like a quiet adoration of the man.

Jiraiya listened intently on the raspy voice.

"No one can hide in the mirror of the sea," he continued, staring blindly at something unseen, "The mirror is too clear, and man, man I say is far too dark. He shows up like an ugly eclipse; black against the sky, round, and sinister. I say, Ryo, we must light a small candle up on the lighthouse tomorrow. The shadows will tell them we were there. We were there."

"Of course uncle," Ryouma said dutifully, "They will know. They always know. They have spies, that go out and look for these things. They know you are still alive, and it pains them."

The old man smirked within his gray beard.

"Uncle—are you tired?" Ryouma asked him after a moment.

"…Yes," the old man admitted, "Yes. Please help me, Ryo."

"Excuse me," Ryou said to Jiraiya as he rose and helped the man from the chair. Yamashita used the cane not so much for support, as Ryouma held both his back and shoulders, but as a guide. The man did not move slow, but he did not move with alacrity; the two disappeared into the bar and lounge for the apartments.

Ryouma returned almost twenty minutes later. The last rays of sun reclined over the basin and the tall clouds of mountains in the distance like a flailing farewell of red and orange streaks across the horizon. Being used to the obscurity of a thousand tri-cornered tree leaves, Jiraiya had never seen such an open and grand sight quite like it.

"Hello again," Ryouma said quietly as he took up Yamashita's seat, across from Jiraiya. "The tavern is filling up now. It's not a great place to be after twilight. We're on our way south," the young man explained quietly after another pause, "To Ame. I figure what with all the water down there, it might help ease uncle's mind. He could even get a job somewhere. You should see him if he steps on board a rocking ship on sea. He knows where he is again, he's not the same crippled man," Ryouma smiled. "It'll do me good too. I have a brother down there. Not by blood, but just the same. He's got a good job in the reclamation area for one of the major cities—small enough to fix problems and such. Funny little guy, but I love him," Ryouma looked downward. "Hate to leave here thought. Grew up in the mountains. Guess I dream at night to go back there, someday," he finished quietly, as if he'd just said something forbidden.

"The mountains…" was all Jiraiya could think to say, "Are beautiful. I've seen them."

"They are indeed. You live on one?"

Jiraiya shook his head.

"My father used to work in a coal mine near Hidaka. That's where I'm from. He worked there like his father and his father before. All his life. When he was fifty-five, the company finally shut the mines down. He didn't know what else to do other than drink himself blind. We put him back underground a couple years later. I was eighteen," Ryouma smiled. "I don't know why I'm telling you this—Are you staying here tonight?"

Jiraiya nodded.

"Mm," Ryouma smiled again, "So where you from?"

"Oh," Jiraiya thought, "The east. The far east."

"Kusa? Konoha?"

Jiraiya smiled, "Konoha."

"Oh. You're from the land of fire…So that's why you haven't arrested us yet," Ryouma chuckled. "Good for you. I envy you. I confess; I've never visited there. Do people live in trees?"

Jiraiya shrugged and then he grinned, "I do. I have a nice tree house."

"I'll believe that," Ryouma smiled. "I always wondered what it would be like to live in a tree house. I always liked Konoha, more than the other nations—nowadays, I'd probably prefer it to tsuchi."

"Really," Jiraiya looked at him curiously.

"Mm," Ryouma looked out over the misty teal basin. "Either this land is cursed, or the people who tread upon it are cursed. I don't know which. It may not matter, simply that it is. I could live a hundred years and still not tread more than two percent of this land. Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty to judge, but there it is. And, it's all I know."

"Why can't you and your uncle stay north?"

"Enemies," Ryouma said quietly. "Uncle has enemies up there."

"From the government?" Jiraiya asked a little incredulously.

"A small group of men his age have little chance of holding an insurrection against a large group of young men, especially those with the Iwagakure ninja in their back pocket. It started ten years ago. No, I shouldn't say that. Daimyo have always had the need for shinobi to protect their land; interests. But ten years ago, I went up north for work, I was nineteen, twenty or so, and I met Yamashita-san on the docks. He was like a second father—an uncle to me. Gave me work, I didn't even have to ask him, he just offered it to me, right there, without reservation. That was around the time one of the daimyo on the west end was flat out of money, and nearly out of shinobi. Spent all he had on the best, and still got quite the upset by the Konohagakure ninja. Ruined him, like a castle that finally crumbles, and then all the animals make their new home there, and the biggest one gets to stay. Since then, I began to notice how the daimyo compete to have the most shinobi in their arsenal. They're all united by their sense of power and wealth, that's what's been making them so dangerous. They're becoming concerted, and they think they know what's best for their people. At a young age, I never thought about worse case scenarios. Nowadays, I'm grateful each and every day we aren't officially at war with somebody, and I live with the fear each day it could happen tomorrow. I hate to sound cryptic, but I think that's what makes up the mountains, and hence makes up the people. That, and a heavy sense of irony. We have many sayings here. But we also have the will to implement them. God only knows what would happen."

"Do you think…it would happen?" Jiraiya asked him, with a chill in his hands, remembering the warning his brother gave him about the possibility of a second ninja war.

After a moment, Ryouma nodded. "And when it happens, it could make the first war look like a small fight in the sandbox. No offense to suna. They were our old enemies. After all, the second ones are always bigger than the first ones—just think of the clan wars before Hashirama. There was a long and bloody history for lines on a page. It took a lot of years, and a lot of bloodshed for peace. I only wish all that concerto human effort could have lasted longer than the ink did. But I guess that'll never happen. A hundred years from now, we're still going to be human, and we're still going to make the same mistakes."

"…You think?" Jiraiya asked him curiously.

"I know it," Ryouma smiled. "I have to know."

"Hm," Jiraiya wondered thoughtfully.

"And now, I will say so long," the young man rose up slowly from the chair. "Who knows if I will see you again. We're leaving early. Have to escape the authorities," he winked. "Goodnight."

"Oh—goodnight. Good luck."

"Thanks. Same to you—I never did ask you where you were going."

"North. I think. I don't really know where."

"Well, stay safe."

Jiraiya nodded.

After Ryouma left, Jiraiya's thoughts grew darker as did the night. He soon agreed the idea of settling in for the night was better than keeping out, alone. He rose late the next morning, and out his window as he looked, sure enough, he saw the old man and Ryouma leaving in the morning light. The went out the town on the secondary road, heading south.

And without care, but with intrigue, Jiraiya left the inn and winter-like town for the land up north. He made several interesting stops before finally reaching the northern coastline in May. There, in a balmy and mild port town, he wrote to his mother dutifully, and also to his niisan in care of that message on a separate page, noting the copious amounts of shinobi cells Jiraiya had seen along the way. Soberly, he guessed wither they were all really patriotic genin youth, or either a mix of chuunin and genin, thus breaking the rules for some kind of arms race—never had Jiraiya seen so many cells mobilized in such that way before. There were all over the port town, especially on the northern end where (as far as Jiraiya could see) there were no civilians. While looking out atop an abandoned lighthouse (open for tourist visits by a small fellow in a government clerk's suit, charging a local fee of three dollars) Jiraiya could see the houses and buildings on the north-western peninsula all dark and vacant. Brown shadows moved within the distant forest green among those grey walls of empty docks and coastline homes. The land itself seemed hazy and a bit scorched from the activity, as if the ninja were slowly sucking the color from the abandoned town. _It's dark and haunting,_ he observed, and wrote to his ani, _I could see iwa nin in the distance—saw a couple old ships still out there in the water. Training exercises? Why is the entire village vacant? For what? It seems odd the shinobi, in junction with the local authorities would just take over civilian areas. Thought you should know. Don't worry. Won't poke around_ too _much. Love, Jii. P.S.—Hope you got a chance to work the land. Bet you're busy now!_

The eighteen year old luckily saved a few of his dollars and as he walked back into the small inn that night on the south side of town, he felt confident enough to walk up to the bar and order, with shinobi ears tuned to every other conversation, in hopes of figuring out the mysterious north end of tsuchi. One couple were negotiating some sort of deal about 'it', another man to his right was moaning over a woman 'Kumiko' or 'Yumiko'—he was slurring too poorly to distinguish; and the three men on Jiraiya's left were a mix of a clerk and two government officials talking about a local lord and his successes Jiraiya had never heard of. He never had much interest in politics, but he listened anyway, and then traded off intermittently to the 'it' talk behind him a few tables. That conversation was most hard to hear, so he eventually decided to focus all listening on 'it'. In the depths of hearing a few tables back, Jiraiya was oblivious to the forlorn gentleman who suddenly succumbed to the coping mechanism he been drinking and blatantly asked with a nudge to the young man's shoulder, "I ain't never seen a guy with white hair before."

Jiraiya looked in his direction, and for a split-second, Jiraiya could have chosen to ignore the comment, but he looked at the man in the eye and said thank you. Drunken people were amusing to speak too. But Jiraiya's attention focused back to 'it'.

The drunken man retracted his hand and laughed a little, under his grey hat. "You look funny."

"Thank you," Jiraiya said again calmly.

The man chuckled again. "That all you can say?"

"Ask me something one more time, and I'm going to have to leave."

"Oh…Ok. I promise," he said.

Jiraiya breathed a quick sigh of relief and he resumed the delicate level of concentration he needed to take up the conversation behind him;

"I have to see it to believe it," the man with the lower voice said. It was an older, hardened voice, of someone years older than just an ordinary middle-aged man. Jiraiya guessed (without even looking) the man had to be close to his mother's age, if not a little older.

"You want to see it?"

"Like hell I want to see it. Do you know where she is?"

"Of course. I can take you to it—"

"I had a dog that kinna looked like you," the drunken man suddenly said. "Fuzzy little white thing. Lotsa white fuzz…stuff…Whas' it called?" He pulled off his grey cap and pulled his own hair. "Oh. Hair. Yes. Hair," he announced, and pulled at his own under a brown cap of the same color.

Jiraiya's eyes bulged as he looked at the man resentfully.

"His name was…Oh what…Deki-maro. Dekimaru. Really sweet."

Jiraiya got up and left.

"Aww! Come on…!" He turned morosely over his glass. "Another one gone. Oh she was sweet."

Jiraiya exited the tavern and jumped silently, onto the roof, most interested in what the younger man had to show the older man. So he waited. Almost five minutes later, the two walked out, and stealthily, Jiraiya trailed them. He used his supreme level of caution and followed them north, to the northeastern dock. Jiraiya kneeled on the limb of a tall oak, overlooking the wharf. The two walked below him. "I can go with you, but you're going to have to steer her out of Nakamaru."

Jiraiya saw no large ships in that dock besides five or six small dinghies, all roped to the dock posts, floating silent in the night.

"From there on, she's mine?"

The younger man nodded. "No use I could do with it. No trouble I could stand, either; sorry."

"Fine. But we leave under the cover of day. It's far too dangerous at night. You heard the stories. You won't come back. I don't care how brave you are."

"Fair enough. I'll meet you here at ten tomorrow."

**.**

Jiraiya used his perfected invisibility jutsu and tailed the boats as they went out to sea the next morning 'under' the 'cover' of the yellow sun. Jiraiya ran atop the water, and the boats sailed leisurely at their own pace—they reached a small island on the north sea after an hour, and curiously, Jiraiya trailed them both on land. The two waited again, this time, until the cover of night, when the older gentleman, alone, and with backward glances every three feet, headed for the eastern port docks on the island, and down on the end, was a tall, impressive old wooden ship and by the young man's description, said it was headed for the 'breaking-up-yard' only two days hence. But the old man suddenly stopped and stood there for a moment until he touched his charcoal color hat, turned around, and called out, "All right! Come out!" he said on the empty dock in the night. "I know you're there!"

At first, Jiraiya actually thought the man was not speaking to him, but to someone else unknown.

"Come out! Arrest me! I dare you!" he called boldly.

Again, nothing else stirred.

"Well? Testing me? Seeing if I'm going to run? Well I'm not, coward! Face me!" Finally, the old man pointed to the very tree the eighteen year old had concealed himself in.

Jiraiya decided to make himself known as an innocent party—he dropped from the old fruit tree adjacent to a vacant water clerk and ship chandler's office, and made himself visible and calmly walked down the dock.

"You! I come willingly. Take me if you must!"

Jiraiya looked up and saw the old man was committed to his instruction. "I'm not a shinobi," Jiraiya smiled. "I have no wish to arrest you."

The man looked briefly stupefied—"What? But you are from the government?"

"Why does everybody ask me that?" Jiraiya wondered aloud. "No. I'm not from the government either. Nor am I dog or vagabond. There, are you happy? I'm just plain old Jiraiya. A traveler. Nothing more. I happened to come this way."

"Why have you followed me?"

Jiraiya stopped and thought, "How do you know if I followed you?"

The man moved his head back for a moment. "I can sense these things," He turned his body and headed for the tall brown ship, as if it would give him shelter.

"You're a sensory," Jiraiya followed him.

"I don't use fancy words like that; what is, is. I don't give a damn about the details. Never have. The devil is supposed to reside there. I must avoid the devil at all costs; I am a religious man. And since I must avoid the devil and all temptation, that is why I must leave the land where I was born, and which I love more than anything else in the world."

"Seems like everybody is leaving tsuchi these days," Jiraiya commented.

"And you, do you wish to leave tsuchi too?" the old man asked, untying the knots in the ropes from the stern. "And perhaps sail with me, stab me in the night, and take the ship to one of the Iwagakure secret isles." He took out a pocketknife to better cut the rope—the knots were too unruly and badly tied by the shinobi.

"I'm not working with them, or the government, I swear to you. I was merely curious."

"I don't believe it. You're a shinobi. I know it, dammit. Perhaps a suna shinobi, destined to spy on me? Kusa? Kumo! You're from Kumo!" the man identified.

"I am _not_ from Kumo," Jiraiya's tone took patriotic offence.

"Mm," the man grunted. The man began to climb the ladder. "You coming?"

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"You just said you don't trust me!"

"I know. But I have not, so far, sensed that you are lying in any of your answers—yet. Follow me, and don't ask any questions until we leave port."

"Aye—sir."

Jiraiya readily followed him up.

The man managed to reel in the anchor and give specific orders to his new first mate to get the ship out of the dock. The old man ignored the sails for the time being and began to steer the big clock like wheel, and he explained, "This is my ship. I christened it the _Yamaru_," he said, the breeze pushing on their backs on bridge; "until the government renamed it, the_ Victory_, a few months ago. Took it from the port town to here. Bucked the whole way, kicking and screaming like a little colt. Determined it was not fit to serve 'the royal Iwagakure fleet' of naval ships, and ordered it for the breaking up yard. Only damn good thing about the government these days is that it still takes forever to get anything done. I am now saving her from her subjected fate, lest I meet with an iwa squad with white earth masks of death and a burning match. You don't happen to have a match, do you?"

"No sir," Jiraiya answered quickly.

The man gave him a slow dubious look. He knew Jiraiya was hiding something—Jiraiya thought just as quickly; "It would be faster to use a fireball jutsu. In which case, the ship would have already been destroyed. But I swear to you, I have no such intentions. I swear," Jiraiya said. "How could I willfully destroy something this beautiful?"

The old man turned his head to look over the wooden wheel and the moving water. He smiled. "I believe you. The name is Mizuno. I'm sixty-seven, and I'm getting too old for this. I've heard the land of waves is a pleasant, all but busy place. Since I'm landlocked, I plan on sailing east, into Kumo, and navigate the rivers out."

"Do you have any maps…?" Jiraiya was surprised.

"Everything I owned was in my state-room. I doubt there's anything left. You may go check."

"Really?"

"Listen, young man, the only way for you to turn back now is to jump out and swim, or jump out and drown. But I know someone like yourself could easily jump out and run. Yes. A power like yours, you have your choice."

"I'm a traveler," Jiraiya said again after a pause. "Nothing more, nothing less. I have my mother, to write back to. And a brother. He's married, now."

"Family."

"Yes."

"Go on. Look and see what's left. Bring it back to me."

Jiraiya brought back a paper bomb.

"I promise you, I can diffuse it without trouble."

"Holy Lord."

After another moment, Jiraiya looked up and said, "I'll be right back."

Jiraiya jumped out, and successfully caught his balance on the water.

"Be careful!" the old man shouted. "Hide the flare! Hide the fire!"

Jiraiya nodded and ran.

Mizuno did not see the explosion.

Jiraiya returned cheerily, and made a great leap back out onto the front deck.

"Is it gone?"

Jiraiya nodded, smiling.

"Holy…Moses…You…You really…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't find your maps. They left the paintings, and some clothes too, but no—"

"Dear Lord, man, I'm astounded. You tell me now, who trained you?" the man asked him, incredulous. "Who trained you, young man?"

Jiraiya smiled pridefully and looked down; "Konoha," he said.

"Konoha…" The man repeated. "The land of fire. Of course…" he realized. "Tree leaves and forest. You from there?"

"Born and raised, sir."

"Hm," the man stared with wonder. He turned back to look over the sea, and under the starry night sky. "So what's a Konoha man wandering into tsuchi for?"

"I started in suna," Jiraiya explained, leaning against the fore rail, "Then I made my way over the border."

"Now you're headed to kumo," the old man smiled. "You in a race, around the world? Sorry to slow you down."

"If I am, I've already lost. I left the end of December."

"Goodness. That's a long journey so far."

Jiraiya smiled. "It's been worth it. Meeting new people, seeing new places. I've been to kumo before, actually, but only on the southern border, with my captain, and that's about it—My brother has been most everywhere. I want to go everywhere too. I want to see Kiri, most of all."

"Kiri? Mm, well, sorry, but I can't take you that far out. I'm took old to be gallivanting around like that. If we make it to the land of waves, we'll be lucky," Mizuno stepped aside with one hand on the wheel, "Care to steer?"

"…Sure! I mean—Aye!"

Jiraiya took it and did not expect to continue holding it with such force as the old man rested for a moment beside him. "So how long do you think it will take to reach the coastline?" Jiraiya asked him.

"She's moving good. I expect a few days. Wind picks up halfway cross the belt. We'll come in on the Bora river line. That's the north tributary of the Izu. And we'll stop off in Mayanbe for supplies, if we hit the day the market is open."

Jiraiya looked at him curiously; Mizuno smiled, "I have a good memory. I knew there were no maps down there. Rock ninja are ruthless. And directionless," he chuckled. "I suppose the rest of my notes, my journals; they've all gone?"

"I saw nothing else—I'm sorry."

"That's all right," he said. "Don't need all that stuff anyway," he pointed to his mind, "It's all in here now. What's left."

"I have…a question," Jiraiya said.

"Keep her steady."

"Oh," Jiraiya kept a firm hand on the knob of the wheel.

"Go ahead."

"Well," Jiraiya thought, "Is everybody so…resigned, in the land of earth?"

"Resignation?" Mizuno suddenly smiled. "…How old are you?"

Jiraiya hesitated for a moment. "Eighteen," he eventually answered.

"Eighteen? Lord, God, you sure don't look it, now do you?"

Jiraiya smiled to himself looking over the ship, and concentrating on the wheel.

"No wonder you wouldn't understand. Yes. All right. I speak for myself. But my resignation comes in the form of going. Understand?"

Jiraiya looked at him and shrugged.

"My resignation is to flee. To watch the great demise from afar. The man I was with, you see him?"

"Mm," Jiraiya nodded.

Mizuno smiled, "You seen him. His resignation was to not get caught. His resignation is to go-along. Play ideological possum. I do not have that talent. Or the patience. Not anymore. You see?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Good. You will be forced to see sooner or later, and make your own resignation as far as the world takes you."

"What if—Oh; nevermind," Jiraiya continued to muse upon the idea.

The old man smiled. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You're the most powerful off the charts ninja I ever 'sensed'. Did you…get into trouble, with somebody?"

"No," said Jiraiya honestly. "I just wanted to take a break."

"I believe you. But, it's hard to believe someone like you would be let loose like this. But I suppose youth explains some of it. I was like you once, minus all that 'chakra' business. I came from that island we left just now. Nakamaru native. Grew up with two intuitive sisters, an older brother, bless him, a benevolent mother, and a fisherman father. It was a real nice childhood until we all grew up. Then I realized this world is based on each and every man in the world, and how infinitely fragile we are. This fragility I have been feeling now for ten years, in excess. I got in the ferry business when I was twenty. Used these routes and waters for many, many years, going from west to east, and back again. Never thought I'd have to leave until they took away my ship. My brother warned me. He got out before I did. I heard he was killed. Some accident on wharf, six months ago. Broke my heart, and sobered me up, not that I was drunk or anything. Ideological possum. I realized then it didn't suit me. I had to act. Just don't have the patience," he repeated quietly.

"Hm," Jiraiya said to himself, feeling a sudden cold chill in the air. A swift stern breeze flapped the masts under the ropes. Mizuno untied and unfurled them all.

**.**

_Dear mom, By the time you get this letter, I'll have moved on eastward from where I am now, which is currently breezy and beautiful in a big port village called Mayanbe on the Izu river line. The village is bright and mild; there are over a hundred different shops and stands, each selling everything from trinkets to food (in bulk!), it's all here, and it's all relatively cheap. Captain always liked this port. The food is really spicy, I don't think you'd like it. Don't mind it myself, but my companion doesn't enjoy it—about the only thing he doesn't like. Smells here are everywhere. I've been traveling by ship with a good man (older than you!) from tsuchi to kumo. We've become good friends. He hopes to retire in wave country 'where the food is less spicy, and the rent is just as cheap'. We are navigating through the Izu to the other side. The people here in kumo are nicer than the ones I met over a year ago. Population mostly dark; there are a few small bands of kumo shinobi, mostly genin doing various errands like I used to do a long time ago! The scenery here is quite lofty, as usual. The mountain-line toward the northeast is all shrouded in clouds. Here in Mayanbe, there are marsh pits and estuaries, and there's even a misty jungle up north, and to the south, I'm told; very dense, it's called the Goranbe jungle. Good thing we are aren't headed there. Lot's of big animal carcasses hanging in the market. My captain's ship, the Yamaru, is an old and tall wooden one, maybe like the one you sailed on for Kiri. It has a big old wheel and large white masts. My captain (I'm first mate!) said he bought her off an old skipper twenty years ago. Wish us luck in navigating the rivers. It's interesting—these market towns were named as to the day in which they're open for business. 'Mayanbe' means Thursday. Today is Thursday. It'll probably be sometime next week by the time you get this._

_Well, we must start packing supplies and head out—hope you are well. I send my love to you all. Take care. Jii._

**.**

"How could I ever think she could make it…" he muttered again. "Dammit!"

"For all the cursing I've heard today," Jiraiya came out on deck, "I would think you _aren't_ a religious man. What? What is it now?"

"Jiraiya, for all my sweet talking she's known in the pleasant relationship we've had over the years, I can't turn her around on this, and we can't move forward, God, dammit, we're doomed!"

Jiraiya looked down the river beside him. "But we have to keep moving forward."

"It's too damn tight!" He said angrily. "She'll never pull though without the hull getting jammed and ripped to shreds. _Dammit_," he said again to himself.

"Well other way looked worse, don't blame yourself."

"Well I can, and I will," Mizuno stopped himself looking on ahead and collapsed himself near the wheel. "There's nothing we can do. She'd sooner sink than pass that brown alley."

"What if we tried to angle her?"

"Nope. A corkscrew can't unwind as easily. I'm not taking that risk. There might be worse shelf toward the north; I'm not charging her. I'm not going to force her."

"We've come this far…"

"Half way, " Mizuno briefly smirked and sighed. "Just my luck. Just my luck I never navigated this far down before. I knew it'd be trouble, but _this_…"

"Now hold on—we haven't explored all options."

"Oh, such as abandon ship?"

"A captain never abandons his ship."

"No, but you could."

"I won't," Jiraiya stared resolutely at him. "And I have an idea. Several."

Jiraiya leapt off the ship.

"What are you—" Mizuno watched the eighteen year old tromp atop the murky brown water of the river, moving slow as if he were thoroughly inspecting the shelves of land had spiked far too close together for the _Yamaru_ to pass through unscathed. "Be careful boy!" Mizuno called. "You dare trod lightly, whatever you're planning and you think it through, you hear? I want nothing drastic! She's an old sea girl, don't dare teach her anything new for God's sake—what _are_ you doing, boy!" Mizuno demanded of his first mate.

Jiraiya looked up and smiled, he then looked again at the distance between the land over the river. "I have an idea," Jiraiya called up to the ship without looking.

"Well then, let's hear it!" Mizuno granted extravagantly. "You going to carve out the land or something? Don't try it. She may not stand the current when the water displaces. There now. Now what ideas have you?"

"Be quiet," young Jiraiya muttered. The shelf on the floor was shallow itself—the ship had drifted too close to the pass now to try an earth jutsu. The man was right in that the force of the water would only tip the _Yamaru_ over. But Jiraiya suddenly got another idea: he looked up to the ship; Mizuno had thrown the anchor, and tied down the sails in a fuss as the pass had come into sight. "Change of plans," Jiraiya called, "Begin reeling in the anchor."

"...Are you crazy?!"

"No. Just trust me."

Mizuno eyed him hesitantly. "What are you going to do?"

"Call in a friend."

"How long will that take?"

"Two seconds."

After a pause, Mizuno shrugged and made his way aft very slowly.

Jiraiya grinned. He moved from water to land in one leap and with a spot of his blood, called on one of his summons from mount Myoboku; a great gust of wind suddenly circulated in a huge cloud, and there, almost four stories high was the big red toad named, Gama Bunta.

"Puny Jiraiya! What have you _done_, you _lunatic!"_

Mizuno accidentally dropped the anchor back into the water as he turned around in shock from the wind and the mysterious, booming voice.

"Jiraiya!" the toad continued indignantly. "_Why_ have you brought me here!"

The tall youth sprang up and landed on the toad's head, to which it further took offence. "You ruined a very fine day I was having, kiddo!"

"Sorry Gama Bunta—"

"Sorry my frog legs, mister impudent little—"

"I need you to pick up this toy boat for me, and put it on the other side of the river. Then you can go home. I promise. Please?"

"You need me to…oh…Fine," Gama Bunta made a quarter turn, and Mizuno shouted in the face of the giant toad; "Now you be CAREFUL with her mister frog! I want _no_ nonsense!"

Gama waded into the north end of the river, and picked up the _Yamaru_ with both fore arms and as he held it in the air, he looked at the underside curiously. "I always wondered what the bottoms of these things looked like…" The red toad said in a gravely voice. Jiraiya was looking too.

"PUT HER DOWN!" Mizuno roared from atop the rail.

"All right, all right, little puny fisherman," Gama set it down carefully in the wider water and tried looking up to the teen still affixed on the top of his head. "Well that was fun—you satisfied, Jiraiya?"

First mate nodded; "Thank you Gama Bunta," he said politely.

The toad sneered. "Off to my play, er, _duty_…" Gama made another quarter turn and then disappeared into the same clouded whirlwind he came—the _Yamaru_ rocked and bobbed drunkenly from the displacement of the toad, but it did not lean once to tip.

"Well then," Jiraiya appeared on-dock and began untying the sails. "To the east!"

"Dear God," Mizuno regained his balance and staggered with shaking knees toward the anchor pull. "Dear God…Didn't know you had a gigantic frog at your…disposal."

Jiraiya smiled.

**.**

She received another letter toward the end of July,

_Dear mom, It's open sea for us again! After a slight set back (I'll tell you about it when I get home!) We've made it into the east ocean! Coming down to the land of waves. Picked up lots of good supplies last market stop. It was on Tuesday. Bet you'd like to know how we made it out! Captain asks the very same question! Was very exciting, navigating the river; I didn't know how many things _could_ go wrong. Mizuno is very glad though to be out on open sea again. So am I. So vast. He is the second man now that I've heard; he refers to it like a 'mirror'. 'Umi no kagami'. I guess if I'd made my life by the sea, I would call it that too, but I have not forgot the land of fire. I miss you all very much. I will write you again very soon. Till then, take care, and tell niisan I miss him. Oh—and I have been writing and journaling my progress. I think I'm even getting good._ Here, he drew a prospective smile, and then finished,_ Love, Jii._

**.**

By the first week of September, the _Yamaru_ arrived in the land of waves. Now the land of waves was shrouded not by mist, but by over a thousand roaming ships, both private and commercial, in it's numerous ports along the shore. It was not connected to the land of fire by bridge, but by the water channel; the inlet sea as blue as the sky on clear days. The land was an island, peninsula of sorts, home in it's own foggy curtain after the twilight and the rise of the first evening star, when that blue water changed colors and turned cold and smelled of indigo and rope. The land was home away from home for over a hundred different professions, the most common of which, commercial trade, and fishing. The land of waves supported no shinobi to it's name. Instead, it was a home for off duty Konohagakure chuunin, assorted curriers of all nationalities, and the occasional hire of Kirigakure chuunin by some government officials. However most of them still relied upon both Konohagakure and Kumogakure's resources.

"I'm going to rent me a spot on the north end, and really live large," Mizuno smiled peacefully, ahead of the wheel. "We'll be rolling in Suigami in about twenty minutes. I've seen it twice before—very nice trees inland, you'll see…Will we part in the morning, then…?"

"I guess," Jiraiya said quietly. "As much as I like the sea now, I really miss my home. I've been feeling it lately, I guess. But, there's still one place I have to see before I head home."

"You still holding out for _kiri no kuni_?"

Jiraiya nodded.

"…Fool's chase…" Mizuno offered. "Be careful, or you may get lost up there, and I don't mean in the ocean."

"I have a general idea of where I'm going," Jiraiya smiled. He pulled out an old slip of paper from his pocket and showed it to the man.

"…Where'd you ever get this?" he asked.

"From my mom."

Mizuno whistled impressively. "Looks quite old."

"It is. I plan on going here," Jiraiya pointed to a dot on the east side entitled, Satsumasendai.

"What for?"

"To see it. You know. Climb a mountain if it's there. You're from tsuchi, you of all should know about that sort of thing," Jiraiya folded the paper and returned it to the pocket inside his jacket.

"Sure," he granted, with a slight twitch in the line of his mouth. "But…" he thought for a moment, looking at the dark peninsula in the distance. "There's a difference between eagerness and reality. The two fail to mix, often enough."

"I'll think of something," Jiraiya answered with a smile.

"I know you will," Mizuno smiled. "Just be careful out there, young man. If you need to come back, you have a place aboard the _Yamaru_."

"Thank you…I'm honored."

"I know you are, boy. I know you are."

**.**

In the morning, Jiraiya awoke and shook his captain's hand aboard the old wooden ship in the docks. They had their last breakfast together aboard the _Yamaru_. "Saw the clerk's office early this morning, while you were sleeping," Mizuno announced, "Twenty-five dollars a week, they're going to rob me," he laughed.

Jiraiya smiled.

"Said he admired her though. I think I could get a few errands from him and the workers, help me pay the bills."

Jiraiya looked up, "So, you don't have any family anymore…?" he wondered.

Mizuno shook his head. "Not in this part of the world. One of my sisters passed on about fourteen years ago. The other is living with her husband on a north isle, above Nakamaru. Rebun. Very quiet place. I decided a long time ago it wasn't for me. No work up there besides fishing," Mizuno smiled. "I'm not the best. Not like my brother was, or my father."

"And…may I ask; what was your brother's name?"

"Taro."

Jiraiya's head nearly rolled off his neck—"Taro?"

"Yes, why?"

"I thought…it might…be…" Jiraiya shook down a knowing smile. "Ever since you told me about what happened to him, I just wondered."

"Wondered what, boy?"

Jiraiya shook his head. "Nothing," he looked at his captain again and smiled; "Is Mizuno your real name?"

"What brought this on?"

"You can trust me now. I know you can."

Mizuno shifted back in his chair uneasily. "It's been Mizuno for sixteen years…Ever since they charged Yamashita Masashi with forgery on the ship papers of the _Akishimo_ and the _Yubari_. Quite a big scandal," Mizuno commented distantly.

"Was it?"

"Mm."

"Let me guess; devil is in the details?"

"Don't want that foul company."

Jiraiya smiled and laughed.

"Now what have you to think of me?"

Jiraiya grinned. "I think you're a pretty good guy. And I think your brother…would be very proud."

Mizuno smiled. "I hope so."

"Thanks for everything, captain."

Masashi nodded. "You're welcome, young man. You're very welcome."

**.**

Jiraiya came down the docks by himself, and as he passed down a quarter mile on the land and arrived in the downtown area of the village, he came across two Konoha shinobi, who immediately interceded him, and gave him a folded note, and then vanished.

"Hey—" Jiraiya frowned. "I hate it when they do that…" he murmured to himself as he unfolded it and read, _'Jii', come back to my office ASAP. Important, imperative, and more dire and dangerous than you have ever known. I'm sorry. No doubt, you must have heard the news by now. You are needed here now. You 'old' sensei of very young age._

Jiraiya looked up. "What…the…heck…" he wondered, "What news?" He walked slowly towards town. "Oh come on…" he stopped and looked out over the eastern ocean, ships leaving, ships returning. "Gee whiz, what great timing you old coot. _Darnit_," he cursed. There was a sick feeling in his stomach like something of a land-sick blues coming over him as he traveled on through the town, looking back every now and then to that cold and crystal clear eastern ocean under the eastern sky, keeping the land of mist out of sight and many miles away.

**.**

"Jiraiya!" His mother cried, and she held her very tall and (very) handsome son again.

"Hi mom," he looked over her shoulder, into the den and smiled warmly. "I brought something back for you," he showed her as they parted; Jiraiya pulled out a wooden barrette wrapped in canvas cloth from his pocket. A bright orange painted flower was attached on the end, also made of the wood, and it's colors were intense, encompassing every shade of orange like a sunset. It was painted like a bright lily, of spring, and three small painted impressions of leaves flowed out delicately in each corner. It smelled of the market back in Mayanbe. "I watched a woman make one of these on the east end of the river from out stay in Mayanbe. There were different colors and stuff."

"Oh, it's beautiful! Thank you Jiraiya."

"I got something for Sakumo, too, is he…"

"Yes," her smiled faded. "He shipped out three weeks ago, so to speak. He's gone…Well he's gone…to the heart of it all…standing with the…Kusa…resistance…"

"No way," Jiraiya uttered—thinking of heartless tsuchi and small little Kusa—"Are you serious?"

She led him inside and closed the door. "He told me as privilege, and now I've told you," Keiko looked at her son uneasily. "Of course he told Yoshiko—doesn't comfort either of us, but this is the reality we face now…tsuchi has gone too far now…Konoha cannot escape this, and I know this will not end well. We are at war…once again."

**.**


	37. Fighting the Tides

(Quick note: Yes, this is the beginning of the second war…)

**.**

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

**_._**

**_._**

Chapter 37  
_**Fighting the Tides**_

**_._**

**.**

"Takato…where are you going?"

He turned around and smiled with a small letter he tucked in the inside pocket of his old green vest, "For a walk?"

His wife's face fell flat.

**.**

Ichida Takato did walk under the sunshine of a clear day in the shinobi village, toward the hokage tower (a wonderful tourist spot), in the heart of the village, just south of the mountain tributes of the two men that had founded and shaped the village as their own so many years ago. He walked down the dusty brown road, lined with business as usual and the odd propensity of normalcy despite two months of the unwarranted and unprovoked tsuchi campaign against it's neighbors, and the numerous flocks of messenger birds flying in and out at every time of day, all day. As a result, most of the little songbirds held riots like Konohagakure was being invaded by bigger and better birds of prey. It was the last week of December of that year, so nicely quiet until that time. And Ichida Takato walked up to the door of that short tower and walked inside. There were at least thirty shinobi crowded together in the main lobby, divided and circled in groups of four or five, with the noise level loud as the aides who were walking around dazed and confused. "Oh, sir!" One young aide such shouted, "Get in line!"

Takato smiled to the man and walked on without reprimand, but with a sudden array of interested looks. The basement was not as raucous, nor crowded. In fact, it was quite empty, devoid of the noisy birds upstairs. The old shinobi walked down the vacant maze of halls and down to an old conference room with a closed birch door that looked like it had not been opened in over forty years. Takato knocked.

"Who is it…?" came a quiet voice, ruffled voice.

"Ichida, Takato, sir."

"Oh oh; come in, please…"

Takato closed the door behind him.

"Have they found me?"

Takato shook his head.

Hizuren grimaced over a large map of the continent spread out in six large pages over the table. "Forgive me," he said. "You must think me incapable. Truth is I'd give anything right now to be out there, with them, instead of in here, drooling over this mess..."

"I understand," Takato said readily. "And I do not think you're incapable. Far from it. Anyone would shrink from that mayhem upstairs. Shodai would."

Hizuren looked up, "Really…" His query faded as he slowly retracted and straightened his back. "My clone is keeping them busy—for now. Do you…have information?"

Ichida smiled. "I have some information, that is some years out of date."

Hizuren took a cue from the sudden painful stiffness in his back to sit—Takato joined him and sat across from him.

"Suna is able to reach Konoha easily from the south sea. Tsuchi will do it from the north and west. We're very fortunate to have Kumo with us, for now, and I realize you have already taken all this into consideration."

"…The war is barely two months old tomorrow—You think they'll be making that move soon? That this is all just distraction?"

"I don't know when they'll make the move," Takato shrugged. "My guess would be that they're still waiting for all the arsenal they need for when they do. I don't know. But I do come from the memory of the first one. It was Suna's one to lose, tsuchi's now to win. And I know it's taken Iwagakure a while to come back, Sunagakure even further. Point is, Morino Dalzen got to the position where he could predict suna's strategy, because it hadn't made any sense. Suna got us bad on the south side because that way, Kumo could strike the refugee's fleeing to the north. I can't say for certain, but it might be possible Tsuchi will try the reverse this time around. Kick us in the north, where Suna will strike south."

Hizuren took this in silence for a moment. "Fine…I can send a general…I could send…"

"Actually, I'd like to coordinate in the north, with Sakumo. Hold the line. That way our forces could remain in the north, and half of them in the south."

"We may not have the manpower for—wait, wait—you?"

"Yes, me," Takato smiled.

"You…? Uh—Forgive me, but, do you really think you—?"

"Yes."

"At your age?"

Takato smiled again; "They always said I looked far too young for my age. Fifty-five, you think?"

"But aren't you—"

"Sixty-five? Fine. Be accurate," Ichida said. "But re-commission this shinobi. I can rendezvous with the troops up there in about two, three days. All right. Closer to three days."

"You're serious," Sarutobi stated.

Takato merely nodded.

"I hate to ask what your wife said about this."

"She let me go out for a walk, today, Hizuren. In my mind, I'm stretching that concept just a bit. One last time."

**.**

"So where are we going?"

"West," the nineteen year old answered.

"Oh rapture."

"I though you said once this was what we were born for," Jiraiya said sullenly.

"Maybe. I didn't say we could die for it."

A red image of the Yonbi flashed forward in Jiraiya's mind. He had to force back the comment that his brother wouldn't let that happen. "It may not be so bad," Jiraiya said, wondering where his brother was that morning. "It can't last too long…"

**.**

She heard a faint knock on the door of the room of a patient she was looking after, and she craned her head to look behind her, and saw her former teammate, Ichida Takato standing there, with a calm smile on his young face. "Takato!" she smiled, remembering to whisper. The man she was looking after was asleep; she walked to the door and he asked, "May I have a word with you—alone?"

"Of course," she said, and asked another nurse to take her place. After that, they walked into an empty room together and she smiled innocently, expecting him to tell her some trivial news. But his smile was a sort of sly one, one she saw fixed upon him not too often, "So what's it about?" she started.

"I'm going north, to rendezvous with the troops up there. I'm going to leave this afternoon."

Her mouth dropped—"You can't be serious…" she disclaimed. "No…"

"I know I'm a bit old, but I don't feel like it. I've got the fight left in me to do this, Keiko—"

"But you're—you can't—What did Yukie _say?"_

Takato then smiled coyly. "It's my _duty_, Keiko, to my rank, and to my profession."

"But! How could you!" she exclaimed heated, _"Takato--!"_

"This is the makings of something horrible, Keiko, you know it, as well as I. Why not get some advice from the ones who lived through it before? Don't worry about me. You worry too much."

"I have a right to worry…" her knees felt increasingly weak, and so she sat on the empty bed behind her.

"I'm going to see Chinatsu, before I leave, and see if she'd let me borrow Dalzen's diary from the first one. I'll pass it on to Sakumo while I'm out there, at some point. It'll help him, I'm sure."

"But…" she couldn't think of a definite reason of how she could ever persuade him not to go. Despite the thoughts and ideas swirling in her head, she knew it was his decision. But Kano had never expected it. She lowered her head, slowly accepting the constant worry for _three_ men, now, she was forced to think of, out there in the confusion and hell she knew all too well that was waiting for them. For she had worked in four different med stations during the first war; the insanity and wounded never ended, even until long after the fighting stopped.

"But," Takato picked up softly, "I do have something for you, and I wanted to give it to you, before I left. Dalzen…had been meant to give it to you. And I'm so sorry he couldn't. Chinatsu passed it on to me about a year later, when she was looking through his things, by chance," He took out the small letter, and passed it to her, and her name, _Kano Hoseki_, was written neatly in Hiragana on the face, and centered below that, there was written her nickname, _Keiko_. "Who's...it from…" she asked hesitantly.

"It's from Coushander," Takato smiled.

She looked up again, in utter disbelief.

"Goodbye, Keiko."

"Wait—but—!"

"I'll take it easy…just not on the enemy," he smiled.

Shakily, she stood, and hugged him tightly, "Take care of yourself," she whispered with tears coming to her eyes.

"I will."

He turned, and she watched him go, walking down the hall quietly, with such poise and calm. She stared back at the face of the letter in confusion. Once he was gone, off the right and hand side, slowly, she came back into the empty room and sat on the edge of the bed, and unfolded the back, and she opened out the single page, and read,

_Keiko, you asked me to write to my two sons the day they turned eighteen. You're a well of ideas, you know. So I've asked Dalzen to give you this for when you're old and grey. Though I don't think your hair will take on that color willingly, you know what I mean. All I want to say is thank you. For putting up with me, for healing me, for saving me—or at least trying so hard to. I still don't know if there's enough forgiveness in the world to pull this sinner through. But thank you. This goes for each of you. I'm still sorry I hurt you the way I did. I'm more sorry than I can say, and I'm actually glad since I can't hear you fake it and tell me otherwise right now. You've shown me the patience of a lifetime, and still, I hardly know what to say to ever make that up. You've been a perfect mother and a better friend—I'm sorry for my anger. I've been thinking back lately (I've had to), wondering why the moment never came sooner, and every time I come back to a certain saying, 'everything happens for a reason'. And so it has. I was meant to go it alone, and you were meant to become one of the greatest medic nin Konohagakure has ever seen. I'm glad, and grateful our paths crossed one last time, even if it wasn't in the way either of us expected, and I hope you've moved on, and that I don't cross your mind as often anymore. Just know this now, I'm exactly where I need to be. And thank you, forever, for helping me get there. Yours, Coushander_

**.**

Sakumo knelt down on the ground high on the western mountain ridge on the borderline of tsuchi and kusa. Several men were with him, half awake, and half lolling in their break with lowered eyelids over the earth and stone, all resting before the next course of the way through the mountain. The fading dusk of that day darkened their retreating steps journeyed so far; stars were tumbling out in the eastern sky behind them like tiny windows of the next dawn to come. All hung stationary above the horizon, and made no sound like the band of shinobi hidden, and resting beneath. The ninja were all Konoha men, save one Kusa man they found willing to be their guide beyond Kusa's border. He was not yet twenty-three, and he was sound asleep. He said he'd been running for days, evading iwa nin. Sitting there, Sakumo picked out ten grey rocks, pebble size, with two flat sides each. Using chakra, he carved out a single mark, an 'x' in one side of each of the rocks. After each one was marked on one side, he let them roll around inside his hand much like dice and then let them fall on the ground. His second, beside him, began looking on curiously.

Five of the indented sides landed face up. The other five stones were blank.

Sakumo frowned.

"…Sir?" The second asked.

Sakumo cleared his throat and said quietly, "My sensei said he did this. He was…bored stiff on Konoha's eastern border, waiting for the go-ahead order to come through before one of the early battles with Suna. It was the third month of the war. At night. Six of his marks were face-up. The war lasted exactly six years, four months, and four days. I don't know if they happen to be portents for war, but I guess I'll expect nothing less than five from this one, and hope for something different."

The chuunin cringed, looking down at the stones.

Sakumo looked behind him, toward the west, toward the ghostly innards of brown tsuchi, wondering if it felt more like five, or fifteen. "I wonder if he asked himself the same thing," Sakumo thought aloud silently, wondering more than a dozen things as to how to survive this.

**.**

Back in a sleepy Konohagakure, she rose up in the quiet den quite late in the evening, after hearing the hard knock on her front door. She answered, hopeful of half expecting to see her son back so soon, when instead she saw Kujo Rion, standing as innocently as he ever did with his boy-faced expression and weathered, crazy hair. "Rion!" she exclaimed.

"Hello Keiko," he smiled.

"Come in," she said, letting him through and then closing the door.

"I'm not senile yet," he announced firstly. "So I do know this is _Wednesday_, and not Thursday," he said, taking a seat on the sofa, "But I want you to know, I won't coming by tomorrow, like usual."

"…Oh?"

"No," Rion looked at her, still standing surprised before him.

"…Why is that?" she asked.

"Sit down, Keiko, You look like you're going to shout at me and then faint or something."

"…_Why_…is that?"

"I'm heading out," he said. "In the morning."

"Where?"

"For God's sake, you know where, sit down, now. Please."

Her right hand came up to her face; her knuckles rested on the line of her mouth—"Rion," she blurted plainly, "You're sixty-seven."

A flash of a boyish grin leapt to his tanned face.

"Rion!" she commanded furiously. However, the temper was fused short as she blinked her eyes intermittently as he predicted they would be—"Be _reasonable!"_

"Reason? War has nothing to do with reason, my dear."

"Rion…" her breath was short.

"Sit down—please?"

Slowly, she moved and collapsed herself on the sofa, burying her face in her palms for a moment before asking, "You're kidding me."

Rion merely admired her frame, with her black hair shielding the side of her face.

"You're fooling me," she turned to look at him square in the eye. "Please say you are."

A smile, again, curved his lips. "I'm heading north, with part of a small cell on the east block for backup. I figured, too, Takato ought to have a hand up there. We'll work well together, I think."

She looked at him, half stunned, and half furious.

He smiled, and rested a comforting hand on her knee; "Keiko, I'm not going to rest easy with that going on out there. Try to understand that. Now when I come back, we'll have lots of time together."

"You—" she pounded hard on his hand furiously, "You little—"

"Now now," he grinned, catching her hand before it struck his again. "Maybe you could find it in yourself to hook up at a med station north of the border. I'll find some way to critically injure myself, and we could fall in love all over again. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"…You _idiot!"_ she burst, and turned her face away as tears rolled over her cheeks.

"Well I thought it sounded nice," he said, staring off into her bookshelf on the opposite wall. "Really," he turned to her, "Just…wanted you to know."

Kano struggled to take hold of her crested emotion. "You little…" she fidgeted harshly, without looking at him. She could feel him smile cruelly. "My boy," she said after a minute, "My son, left, early this morning. What with him, Takato, Sakumo; I've had all the goodbyes I can stand without one _more_," she said firmly, clearing her face with her sleeve. "Why. Rion, you're sixty-seven for—!"

"Doesn't matter. The only numbers that matter are the numbers that decide the difference between the armies of light, and the armies of dark. You remember that don't you? Nidai, in the second war? His voice was gold over the static radio. I couldn't hear it though. The med stations where I went to were always really suspicious, you know. Never carried radios. Or running water."

She fought his joke off her lips. "Nidai said anything back then, and I agree with him, but Rion, _one more_ isn't going to make the _difference_—"

"I've decided it will. And I've decided I'll put up with the new facilities out there in the secret hideouts where they tide over the ill forgotten. Please. I've made up my mind."

Her reluctant smile was tinged with sadness.

"They know me well out there," he teased, "They know I don't put up with any of their shit."

"So who exactly will you be fighting—the enemy or the doctors?"

The two both laughed softly.

After a moment, she leaned over and let her head fall on his chest. "Please, stay."

"Tell you what. Till nine tomorrow, I'm yours."

She frowned; Rion kissed her forehead, and he smiled.

**.**

"Hm," he remarked quietly. "Just as ugly as the last time we met."

He was looking at the yonbi juubi nearly thousand feet down, paired with another thousand smaller dots like henna brown ants, with the red queen (or king) of a demon ape standing tall to the north, dwarfing them to size, in the north. The beast's skin was flaming red, the kind of coral, carnelian menacing red in the afternoon, and the kind of red that in the night, turned into the clear vision of fire and brimstone itself, ablaze with the light of hell in it's fibers. The ape had an alabaster color chest and face with curved horns on it's head like two bent curves of a pitchfork, more askew than the road down the mountain. The beast's eyes were a bumble bee color yellow, fierce and blinking in all directions.

"Looks like the new host has got some hold on him. He usually bounds around if he's not in check properly."

"He would have had, what, two years sir?"

"About that time," Sakumo nodded. "There's no telling what new skills he has," he murmured to himself quietly, having imagined many different scenarios over the past week.

The jounin immediate him kept a hand on his captain's arm. It was the only way the four could keep secrecy with such a high chakra level as Sakumo, who was unable to mask it effectively enough to keep away suspicion. "With what Gobi fighting Shichibi, I suppose we're fortunate just to have him," the jounin commented lightly.

"Don't forget Shukaku," said Sakumo, unable to take his eyes off the beast.

"I suppose that will be the next assignment, sir," a different jounin spoke up, opposite him. The jounin was Nakamura, a high-level specialist in sealing jutsu and also, survival. The next man, to his left, was an earth-type, Manjiro. The third, the one next to Sakumo, was a renaissance man and jack of all trades; his name was Nozaki. As one of his skills, he could hide the chakra of any ninja simply by touch. He also took two years study in medical ninjutsu, and was adept at both fire, earth, and water elements.

The four were silent until Nakamura spoke a little begrudgingly; "Please, one beast at a time, sir."

Sakumo grinned. "Right, right, of course, I apologize. I couldn't help it. Being in a situation like this, I'm just setting myself up after we finish here. I get to feeling a little giddy, I suppose..."

Manjiro looked up; he was a large and robust man, lean with muscle and a curly brown-orange beard nearly as long as his forearm, tied with a red band near the bottom. "Are you…feeling all right, sir? Are you…nervous?"

"Nervous? It's possible. But it's also possible we're attempting something attempted by only Nidai in the first war. You know I had the hardest time convincing Sarutobi to try this, for the same reason. It's utterly dangerous, and I have to say, for all it's worth, it's the only thing that could stall this war, even just a little."

"…Nidai failed, sir," Nakamura said quietly.

"And that was against Shukaku, unless I've already tempted fate twice and he's on his way here, in which case, we retreat. Understood?"

A collective and quiet, "Yes sir."

After a moment, Sakumo said, "Let's go over the plan one last time, then we can get started."

Manjiro looked down, as if a snail were crossing their path and they should wait respectfully for it to cross, Nakamura looked askance, as if he were thinking of other things they could do like sight-seeing and holding out in the mountain for something different, and even Nozaki, after bouts of communication unlike him, sat quietly beside him, silent as a church mouse, not interested in the sermon, but a crumb under the communion table. Sakumo sighed. "Yes. In answer to your question, I am nervous. I have no idea what to expect the power of the host to be. And if I'm nervous, it's quite all right for any of you to be so. I don't expect anything else, and I'm not strong enough to imagine I didn't bring it with me," The three began to look at him. "But, you know," Sakumo continued, "Nidai technically _did_ succeed. He just didn't come home for eight weeks, or rather, it took him longer than projected to force the cease-fire. And I've been thinking, lately, of every person safe at home, back in Konoha, and it must be done for them. Our friends, our family, everyone in that country may well ride on what we do here. Hizuren himself wished he were here with us now at this very moment, and for all the wishing spent by him and those people, they may as well be. They believe in us, so why shouldn't we—at least for the nest twenty-four hours, or eight weeks, hm?"

Manjiro smiled beneath his grizzly beard. Nakamura looked as his shoulders were finally dropped to a comfortable level, and Nozaki smiled in his cunning fashion.

"I have a piece of land, back home," Sakumo added quietly. "My wife will be left to tend spring planting if I can't get there by May."

"Is it…a big piece of land, sir?" asked Manjiro.

"Very big," Sakumo answered, with a smile in his eyes. "Now. Are we ready to discuss the battle plans?"

"Yes sir," was the collective answer.

**.**

"Naoya-san, where is Masanae-sensei? I can't find him anywhere," a young Hyuuga boy of five asked the brown-haired thirty-two year old.

"He shipped out yesterday," Naoya said calmly. "He will not be back for some time."

"How come?"

"Because…" Naoya looked up over the porch railing, and into the deep green forests nearest the house. "He felt it was his, duty," Naoya pronounced like it were a foreign word, "to go."

"How come?" the five year old persisted.

"It was his decision," he said firmly to the boy. "How am I to know the reasoning of others, hm? Ask him, not me. I have no other information useful to you, now run along," Naoya said sternly, and mulled over the book in his lap. He sighed when he heard the little footsteps of his apprentice run timidly through the doorway. A few seconds later, an adult walked out on the porch. "Naoya, are you coming back in?"

Naoya looked up briefly; "I wasn't planning to."

"You must come in. You spend too much time by yourself. Natsuko has made some tea, won't—"

"I will sit out here till I chose, and not a minute before, thank you."

Surprised by his frankness, the man merely nodded his head. "Yes, Naoya-san." And with that, he too walked inside.

Resolute to thinking he would not be able to finish the chapter of his book in peace, Naoya rose up and moved to the south end, where a retired sensei sat peacefully on the back porch with a newspaper and radio, talking quietly as to not to disturb the classes. He was in his late sixties; sixty-eight and white-haired, white-eyed, each shaded darkly under an old grey hat. Naoya smiled as he approached silently, with his book on bonsai and topiaries tucked under his arm. He stopped and observed the man, sitting very comfortably on a blue cushioned maple wood chair, with his newspaper unfluttering and motionless, spread out and held by his two weathered and wrinkled hands. Naoya looked for Rikuzou's gentle but hidden eyes and saw them, open and alert. "Good afternoon, Rikuzou-san."

"Hello," the old man responded. "Which one are you?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Naoya, sir,"

"Oh, Naoya, sit, please," he offered warmly. A corner of the paper fluttered and he winked, "I must keep up my disguise, you know," Naoya sat and Rikuzou folded the paper and let it lie on the stand beside him.

"I wish I could hide away that easily," the young Hyuuga commented.

"Oh?" he inquired. "One might think you already do."

Naoya exchanged opaque glances with him and said nothing.

A moment later, Rikuzou turned his ear upon a certain sound the program on the radio suddenly made; it was a low bell chime, and the old man turned up the volume carefully, at a low level the two could listen to; "A special update now from the Konohagakure, Allied Village Campaign," a man said, "As of this date, February 3rd, and this time, 1:00 pm, word _has_ been confirmed the capture of the bijuu Yonbi was successful by Hatake Sakumo and his team. This update will be re-broadcasted every hour on the hour for the remainder of the day. Thank you. Once again, word _is_ confirmed the capture of Yonbi from tsuchi forces was successful."

Naoya was staring white and wide-eyed, at nothing in particular.

"Ho ho," Rikuzou smiled, and beat one side of his palm on the arm of his chair. "We got ourselves a victory!"

"…Indeed," Naoya managed, very surprised. "…Indeed."

"If I recall," the old man eyed his young blood, "You served with that man."

"For a brief time," Naoya interjected.

The old man, as well as the entire clan, were all well aware of the plight that befell the only son of the great Hyuuga Hiromasa. "What was he like?"

"Sakumo?"

"Yes. Who'd you think I meant. Yonbi?"

Naoya's brow furrowed as he remembered. "…Brave. Sensitive. And...powerful."

"Hm."

After a moment, Naoya rose up with quickness, "I do not wish to talk about it," he said abruptly, without thinking.

"Oh?" Rikuzou inquired. "Every one of your clansmen can see that."

"Then so be it!" Naoya shouted without looking him in the eye. He didn't have to. He could feel that man's piercing stare from the corner of his shoulder. The young Hyuuga then marched off, down the porch, and led himself onto the grass, toward the gardens.

"Oh dear," Rikuzou sighed, watching his nephew turn away. "What would your father say if he saw you now…?"

**.**

Sakumo sat on the edge of an old white sink, staring into the mirror, shaving the grizzle off his face with a kunai. His brown crutch (he was down to one now), laid against the wall on his right. It was the small med station hidden on Konoha's western edge, not yet targeted or found by Suna's forces. The station appeared a normal house, and the plans of imminent seizure always contained a plan of the four doctors putting on regular clothes and acting like an innocent family. If that failed, they could only hope to defend with their chakra, rather their diplomacy when the kunai were shown. Nakamura knocked on the door and let himself in, "Sir, would you want to see the prisoner off?"

"Is he leaving?" Sakumo wiped the kunai.

"Yes sir, this very moment."

"I see," Sakumo stared down at the black blade; the last of soap left the blade hazed somewhat.

"Yes?"

"Yes," He stepped onto the cold tile floor and put the kunai away, in a back pocket. He ran a hand across his face as he looked at his second, "Yes, I will," He turned his weight and suddenly he bit out a constrained "Ow," as his right leg suddenly vibrated with pain.

"Sir—"

"No, it's fine," He grimaced and reluctantly took the wooden crutch and began walking with it. Sakumo limped and followed Nakamura out.

The young host was standing, heavily guarded, in the anteroom with the four resident doctors, and eight Konoha ninja newly arrived, ready to escort the red-haired iwa nin to secret grounds outside Konohagakure, on the east side. There were special seals on the hosts arms, some controlled by outside chakra, and other by inside, as done by Nakamura; however the other ninja had made some enhancements as the blue seals Sakumo did not recognize. One of the Konoha men stepped forward towards him with a clear medical vile in hand.

"Well—" Sakumo stopped. "Hold on—Is that—Whose orders are those?" he asked the ninja.

"They came from Sandaime-sama, sir," the ninja looked slightly taken aback.

"We were all there," voiced a second ninja in the back.

"Oh," said Sakumo, sensing the man was truthful. "I see."

The jinchuuriki turned his head and looked at Sakumo. "I shall hate them for this. You know how I told you I should have liked the scenic trip. But…as I said…I shall not hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," Sakumo said. He took another slow step forward. "But let me tell you something; the next time you go looking for a divine revelation, please just try and do it in a way that isn't quite so…destructive."

The host grinned.

Sakumo sighed as the group left, with the host completely drugged and subdued. He received new orders from one of the men to head back north. Nakamura, Manjiro, and Nozaki all stood by him as he sat outside the entrance of the little stations, surrounded by a dense and dark green Konoha forest. Their captain's crutch rested against the wall of the building.

"Can you walk, sir," Nozaki inquired, for the long journey ahead.

"Yes. But we need to wait for someone first, before we go."

"Sir—?"

Just then, a little grey dog came running up alongside the house and barked loudly. An old hawk came flying down from high in the treetops, and Sakumo smiled, pulling out a note for the bird. He tied it to her leg as she stood proudly on the ground, blinking her fierce and watchful eyes. "We couldn't have made it out without you," said Sakumo to Teguri. "Thank you…Murasaki."

The bird cawed and then flew off with the note, out of the forest.

"Sir…" Nakamura smiled curiously. "You still didn't explain to us why she was willing to help us."

"Really boys, isn't our friendship a good enough reason?" Sakumo rose up slowly, supporting some of his weight with the back of his hands on the wooden walls. "You treat everything as if there were an ulterior motive."

"Well, normally, there is," he responded.

"Granted, but, accept the small and fleeting fortunes. In the end, they'll be all we've got."

Hairo barked.

Sakumo took his crutch and walked on haggardly, leaving that chapter of adventurous escape of red and brown in the back of his mind. Hairo pranced on beside him.

**.**

The war raged on. Furiously, endlessly, and even after the joyful and inspiring news. Tsuchi still had the manpower, and Suna, and the five tailed beast, in addition to the sand's ruthless beast, Shukaku, who was engaged in bouts of fights off and on with waterfall country's Shichibi—adept at fighting the large sand beast, but too often underpowered. In the meantime, tsuchi's gobi, the five tails, was frequently tested by Kumo's two tails, Nibi, Kumo, the land of clouds, being the only other major nation to join Konoha. The land of mist remained detached and neutral, despite Sarutobi's intermittent requests. The nations along tsuchi's border fought for survival. The actual armies of tsuchi were large, larger than any single unit Konohagakure could produce, and they took cities easily, as the local population could not hope to defend. In truth, the capture of any of the enemy bijuu was a short stitch of morale, hopeful to entice any unaffiliated young man to the cause, to fight the tsuchi armies of expansion.

The first day in November, later in the year, after being back in the east, Sakumo was in the south, fighting suna's advances on Konoha's terrain, throwing himself in Shukaku's way every now and then to buy time for his teams to escape. He was holding out with some men near a small town in the land of fire, much further south than bustling Nobu, and quite near the southern coast. Nakamura had gotten a special transfer order four months ago; both Manjiro and Nozaki, their only medic, were still with him, along with one other shinobi Sakumo knew well, Rinsano, whom, after surviving the great battle of the east in Kusa, chose to serve in the south, with his former captain. In all, the groups of ninja were divided. Sakumo's cell had no more than fifteen men. The thirty year old was sitting against an old oak tree, with a sheet of paper and a pen in his left hand. His right arm was bound up in a sling, and his fingers were all taped. Nozaki's doing; Sakumo's fault. It had occurred to him, that he had not written once to his wife, in all the fifteen months so far he'd been away from home. Being close in Konoha now was his best chance yet to successfully send something to her; a message long, long overdue, and nearly illegible as his left hand would not cooperate against the left side of the page. Still, he wrote, and apologized to her, hoping instead he would be able to come back home soon. He doubted the word 'soon' was the best one to use. At the rate the war was progressing, he did not like the endgame scenario that was playing in his mind. They were outmanned, plain as any non Uchiha or Hyuuga's eyes could see.

He folded the letter carefully when he was finished, his right hand still of limited and painful use, and he wrote the address on the front in the best writing he could. He then took out the other sheet of paper he kept out and began writing slowly, _To my otouto, In ten more days, you will be twenty years old. No longer a teen, no longer a boy, but a young man who has now seen the horrid conflicts of our day, and knows we have such little control over them. I hope this letter finds you resting at home, rather anywhere else. I realize I have not seen you since you returned from your grand trek. Your mother wrote to me and said she'd given you the letter our father wrote to you. I knew she must have. Especially in these hard times, I think you will draw upon those words, and remember them. But, here is some advice from your niisan: watch your back, keep alert, and stay safe. Granted, it's a little dumb advice, but I find it has helped me, in some ways, not all. I believe in you though, in promise of that advice, because I know you are capable of it. Never give up, never surrender, never back down. Remember that the true soldier fights not because he hates what is before him, but because he loves what is behind him. It is because of that end, that we are sustained. And it is for that end, that we are endured. So, watch your back, keep alert, stay safe, and happy birthday my little brother. Your niisan, from the secret, unknown depths of a blue-green mirage._

Sakumo folded that letter carefully, too, though his letters, to any soul, were treated as the foremost privacy save in the lucky hands of the receiver. But Sakumo addressed the front of the letter (neatly as possible, he was getting better) to Jiraiya, in care of Chairo Takahashi, number 507 post office box, Konohagakure, Konoha. It was Hizuren's doing. Select few shinobi knew that name and address. All the notes were collected by Hizuren himself, mostly they were all specific reports, but in this case, Sakumo hoped 'Takahashi' wouldn't mind doing him the favor.

Sakumo gave both letters to a young chuunin, and he went on to the nearest town to send them on. The ninja returned, about ninety minutes later, mission successful.

"I wish we were doing those kinds of missions right about now, that I really wish," Rinsano commented.

"Hm?" Sakumo wondered.

"You know. Delivering letters. Guard duty; patrol duty. Anything but this."

Sakumo smiled. "You're right. The planting went on without me. I feel horrible."

Rinsano looked at his captain empathetically. "I'm sorry sir."

"It's not your fault. It's my occupation." Sakumo murmured quietly.

"Sir?"

"Nothing," Sakumo shook his head. "You'd better sleep. We have a long way to go tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

**.**

Another year of war continued. Come October, Sakumo, thirty-one, was back west, in Kusa, where it was quite miserable with a constant rain on the far east border. Rinsano and Manjiro were still with him, along with a small team of men; Sakumo had purposefully directed the transfer of Nozaki to a cell led by Orochimaru, which included Jiraiya. A new Konohagakure chuunin had arrived to join Sakumo's cell, bringing a small package wrapped in canvas cloth with a note. Sakumo accepted it, sitting Indian-style on a mat that was his green vest, blinked through the haze of his red fever under the small muggy shade of the tent and unfolded to read,

_Sakumo, know you will find this useful, even uplifting, in it's own melancholy way. He was that sort of man. You always knew he was right, no matter what he said. Ever proud of you. We all are. Good luck in life, and Godspeed in your battles. See you when the time comes. Ichida Takato._

Sakumo's mouth dropped open—he looked up at the chuunin, who had elected to sit down on a piece of blue clothing not occupied in rest. "Who gave this to you?"

"The northern junction, sir. I was told it was for you."

"How many days ago?"

"It took me two days, sir. I'd reckon the other man had it with him for a day's time."

"Shit."

"Sir?" said Rinsano, unaccustomed to the word from his captain's mouth.

"Sir?" continued Manjiro, after a moment.

"No…" Sakumo sighed, weighing the gravity of disobedience over in his mind. From the peculiar language in the note, Sakumo felt a strong sense of the odd peace and calmness in death. Sakumo looked down at the canvas-covered item. He unfolded it carefully; it was a small, thin, grey book, and Sakumo's eyes narrowed in tearful emotion upon immediate recognition of the handwriting inside:

_Day 1 & 2—Ironic the first entry is belated—Headed south—Aren't we all…? I shall attempt to convey (in all possible detail) the 'war'. Chuunin Ichida-san has just smiled oddly. Sitting on the ground, wondering where the hell we are. Again, are not we all…? …One minute, it was…_

Sakumo looked up and again, briefly wondered how bad he would be scolded if he should pack up and take his team to the north east. The last time he disobeyed order sent him to Sarin's woods. He could only wonder what punishment could befall him now. It wouldn't do anything for morale, with so many watchers, and it may well be too late anyway. Sakumo rested his warm forehead to the inside of his palm.

"Sir—do you need a doctor?" asked Manjiro.

"No I don't need a doctor," Sakumo snapped. He grasped both objects in his hand and stood, turning away from the group. The cloth fell on the ground. "The only thing that has made me sick is the damn, fucking war!" After a moment, Sakumo controlled his anger. "I'm fine," he said calmly, regretting his emotional outburst. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. He looked at the journal, and the clean white slip of paper in his hands. "Godspeed," he said quietly, and slowly, he made a quarter turn. "Say a prayer, tonight, men. I don't care how, and I don't care to what god—say something."

Sakumo walked away. He had some reading to do, if his mind might hold out long enough to learn.

Meanwhile, it was the opinion of her boss (yes she had one, and only one) that she stay in the hospital in Konohagakure, safe and sound and useful, like she had for the past twenty-five years. But Rion's words had slowly sunken in, to the point where the sixty-five year young lady teamed up with a few new bands of ninja heading out, and she traveled with them to reach her destination: a med station on the north-west side of Konoha, that was apt to receive and retrieve survivors from battles both in Kusa and anywhere north, all the way to taki.

Before she settled at the hospital, the frantic paces of the assorted medical houses; the attacks, the intrigues, the scarcity of supplies and invention were the skills and mindset she lived with, day to day. The supplies were usually first to go, and never lasted between infrequent and unreliable stock. The next supply was in most demand for most of them; assurance and unwavering compassion. Even the most stoic and unsympathetic doctors she'd known softened through the years and wars with those brave and courageous soldiers who gave all they had and more in service to their country, coming in the most heart wrenching tales and scars to show for it. Then of course, there was the constant threat of the enemy; seizing the base and holding all those there hostage, using the facility for their men, always believing there were more supplies hidden somewhere. "Check beneath the floor boards!" "…" "Well check again you freaking idiot!" Kano had experienced that hell before, and suffered little trauma from it, giving her a near-empty supply of fear for it. On two occasions, her doctors gained the upper hand and dispelled the enemy ninja within twenty-four hours. They were her doctors, too, as she'd been the top doctor in several facilities for a long time. She always had a quaint feeling she was built to be in those stations. She guessed the feeling came from the ability and experience of Kiri, where both Saru-Shin and Dalzen pushed her far beyond what she thought was ever capable of herself. She was thankful, for that.

So it was more like coming home, in a new age, with new faces, and newer equipment. And tile floors.

"Did you have a good rest, sir?"

"What in the…what time is it?" He asked, clutching his forehead, sitting upright. He noticed then, the light and misty rain had finally ceased.

"Rinsano has told me the sun is high in the sky, sir."

"What?!"

"He wanted to let you rest."

"That's absurd! I told you before, we move _together_—"

"But do you feel better, today, sir?"

Sakumo dropped the argument in front of Manjiro, and assessed his own state. "I'm still lost," he said. "Can't sense anything. But you know how I can tell you're my second? My captors wouldn't have let me sleep till noon," he said disapprovingly.

"One, actually," Manjiro smiled.

"One, really? Oh now that's unbelievable," he said, still clutching his forehead.

"Sir, you must understand, that this kindness factor works both ways. Like a reciprocal."

"Does it?"

"Indeed. At least that's what Rinsano told me to tell you, sir."

"Oh did he."

"Yes."

"Well then, I will have to have a talk with him when he returns."

"With all due respect, you're no good to anybody if you are unwell and…cranky, sir."

"Cranky."

"Yes sir. Considerably."

"Considerably?" Sakumo questioned.

"Well, as far as your natural serenity goes, and I have spent enough time with you now to know."

"Oh good. That makes me feel better. At least I am not misunderstood when I have one moment of pure outrage over this damn, fine…" Sakumo dropped his anger again, re-composing himself. "…Mess," he finished. "What a mess."

"Please understand, we did this both for your, and our interest."

"Oh you _collectively_," Sakumo smiled. "I suppose," he sighed after a moment. "It kills me now, that people have to die in this war," he said solemnly, thinking of Takato with tears coming to his eyes. "I'd have given anything to have packed us up and go east the other night…Kusa was never one of my favorite destinations, anyway, but, I can't blame it on the land. It's just the feeling I get when I'm here. I can't explain it," Sakumo looked around. "It's almost as if…"

"…What?"

"It's almost as if I'm treading the ground over my own grave. Have you ever have that feeling?"

"Once before."

"Where was that?"

"I was standing quite near the grave of my grandfather, Akimichi Chouza," Manjiro said. "I'd like to be buried there; it's a quiet little wooded lot, not open, but not dark, just green and gentle."

"Sounds wonderful. Is it cool—shaded?"

"Yes sir. It is."

"Thank God," he murmured, remembering for a brief moment what cold air felt like. "Forgive me—are you married?"

"Yes sir, I am," The man pulled out a chain hidden beneath his clothes locking a silver band. "We have a young boy, he's eight. I named him Chouza after his grandfather. Looks just like him, too."

"Oh," Sakumo smiled. "You're a father. I envy you. And thank you…I do feel…a bit better."

"Good." Manjiro smiled.

**.**

_'To the End of Night –A Reprisal'_, he wrote, _And to all those like myself this night, thinking of home. Those tired, brave men, who continue fighting despite their fatigue, their weariness, their exhaustion, who have worked with the toils and waste, the kind refuge and none. We have not slept the night, often time, over the dark moorland and the grassy plains, filled with emotions sharper than blades, more piercing and retrospective; more arduous and alone than we have ever known. But! the night is young, and so are we. We will follow this day, this dawn, and this dusk, to the end of it's starry bright tail, shining with the hope of all our loved ones back in the comforts and the infinite rest and cool shade of home. We will toil and bear ourselves till the dawn, the light and hope of final victory within our hearts, and of our fond and sweet returning. It will be nearer still. Hold fast. Your fellow soldier._

Jiraiya addressed the letter to Chairo Takahashi, and asked him if he could send it out to all the troops.

**.**

"A massacre," the young doctor repeated, with an anxious, shocked look in his eyes.

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and said nothing, as she then walked back to the room with tears stinging her eyes in her own grief and sorrow. Four men lay in that room, Konoha born, who were still alive. A fifth and sixth man were there also, alive, both of tsuchi origin. The two were the only ones with one arm tied to the bed each. They were all very sure they weren't going anywhere anyway. The ones that didn't make it out, were still being found and gathered in another room under clean white sheets. She walked to the bed in the corner, and stroked the sleeping man's arm. This was the waiting game.

She stayed with him, sitting next to him, keeping her grief in check after the image rested in her mind from four hours ago. _Or was it five?_ she asked herself. She turned her head and looked at the clock, but could not reason the difference. She looked back. None of the six had woken yet from their dark and dreamless sleep. She sat for a long time until he finally began to rouse beside her, and after a moment, Rion finally and slowly, opened his eyes.

He looked around slowly, like he were squinting up at her, in hopes to distinguish the woman from a shadowy ghost. The dim lights cast adumbral patterns on the walls, spinning in front of him, and on her blue clothes—he could finally see her face, clearly.

"Hello," Fresh and relieved tears welled in her eyes as she smiled warmly.

He smiled. The only movement in him was the movement of his eyes, his breathing, and his beating heart. "I knew…you were an angel," his raspy voice said to her.

"Shh," she smiled, holding his left hand. "You're all right. You're going to be just fine."

"Am I?"

She nodded joyfully. "Yes."

"Do I…have all my limbs?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"…All of them?" he looked at her seriously.

"Yes," she nodded, nearly laughing.

"Oh good," he grinned.

A tear finally rolled down her cheek; she wiped it away with her sleeve on her shoulder.

He looked at her, into her dark and thoughtful eyes. "You didn't have to come after me. I was just kidding…you know. I'm a big boy."

She laughed quickly. "I had to. You convinced me."

"I did…? Now…" he swallowed. "Can I convince you of the fact I am…madly in love with you…?"

"You have. You always have. I always knew."

"Did you…make any new boyfriends…since I left…?"

"No," she smiled. "No, you have me, now. I promise."

Rion smiled shakily—he swallowed again, and thought about the battle. "Where's Takato…? Did he…?"

Her expression changed within an instant—she caught a miserable sob in her throat and she put a hand to her mouth. Her brow furrowed, and in grief, she shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "The battle…" she caught her breath and rested both her hands on his arm in support, "Was a stalemate. Both sides…endured…" she shook her head, remembering the carnage of the scene. "You're one of four, Rion…"

"Of seventy-eight?" He looked up at her in shock.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice light.

The man beneath her took this in shock and silence.

She looked down, horrified of the fact.

"What…What of…Kakuzu…?" He began again.

Keiko shook her head. "We never found his body. He could have escaped. With any luck, the injuries he sustained were…"

"Bastard."

She held her breath and quit talking, letting him speak volumes about the matter.

"Cheap bloody fucking bastard. I hope Takato…gave him…" Rion stopped his own sentence and went no further.

Keiko knew how he would have finished it.

**.**

Sakumo read the tract and grinned. He passed it to Rinsano, on his left. "Read it, and pass it on. You'll love that," he laughed.

**.**

_'To the End of Night, Returned', Friends, thank you for your steadfastness in the fall months, defending the west with soaring attitude and infallible will, standing tall in the face of danger. The bitter winter winds cometh, but we will meet them with unfailing fortitude. The people in bondage depend upon it. The people enslaved depend upon it. We are liberators, and we walk in those dark places no others would dare tread—we stand between shame-faced terror, and glorious freedom and liberty; we live for our country, and we would die for our country. For the true solider fights, not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. Stay strong. We will prevail, justice is on our side, and peace will return in a new age without hatred or apprehension, worry or fear, pain nor conquest. Stay committed, stay resolute, and stay safe. The ignominy of defeat knows us not. Brave calls each of us out by name. Together, we are bold and strong, and unfailing brothers in hope. Your fellow soldier._

The letter was first sent to Chairo Takahashi, before anyone else.

**.**

"Keiko," Rion looked up, "Am I…going home?"

"Yes," she smiled hearteningly, taping a bandage on his arm.

"There's a…problem…with that…"

"What?"

"Well, you see…I sold…all my furniture and things, and cancelled the rent agreement, 'fore…I…left…" he grinned lopsidedly, staring up at her like a lost puppy.

"You little idiot. Are you serious?"

He tried to laugh. "Serious as I get, miss doctor, ma'am. Did I…tell you yet, that I have fallen_ madly_ in love with you…?"

Her cheeks flushed a little in the low light. She stopped for a moment what she was doing and sat on the bed, looking at him, "Yes, you have, stranger."

"Did I not introduce myself?" he asked.

"For all I know, you're an iwa spy," she said lowly and smiled to show she was teasing.

"Oh, you mustn't think that, ma'am," he played. "Check my dog tag, lest it fell off out there somehow…I was…Konohagakure born 'n raised, even though it might not actually say that on my birth certificate. But I promise you ma'am, I am one of Konohagakure's sons. Yes sir—ma'am. Please say you'd take me in."

"Well, since you asked politely," she smiled. "I think I can find a place for you, young man."

He grinned at what she called him. "You are sweet, aren't you, miss?" he said, lying there. "Young man. Ha ha. I feel like I'm hundred and six. For all you know, I might be."

"You're sixty-nine, and you've done all you can do, Rion. I admire you for it."

"Oh sixties…!" he wailed quietly and mournfully. "How I shall miss thee!"

She smiled and touched his arm, "Drama queen," she stood and prepared him for the long journey home, to the land of fire.

**.**


	38. Year of Hell

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 38  
_**Year of Hell**_

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A year later, late September, marking the third year of war, the fighting grew intense by the allied forces of Konohagakure and the smaller nations. Both Tsuchi and Suna advances had halted somewhat, from the west and south. But the fancy thing of luck was the stuff of daydreams lately for Sakumo and his team. Like an elusive, lofty bird, no sooner it landed than it flew away again, leaving them in an exceedingly dumb position like they were chasing dreams of folly. A letter had come in from Hizuren four months ago to the captain, requesting he take at least a few months leave, but Sakumo ignored the notes after witnessing too much death and pressed on without it. He'd been able to send out another letter to his wife, and selfishly convinced himself that was good enough. He could scarce entertain the thought of going home, let alone seeing the field gone to weeds, his father's life's work no more—so Sakumo ignored it altogether. The coping mechanism worked for him as he pressed on, battle to battle in the west, driving out the iwa shinobi. If it was the last thing he did, he would fight those bastards over their own border and close the lid on that keg forever. But the daimyo were mad—the diplomats had little to talk about, lest it contained the phrase, "All those satellites nations will be ours," and "Over our dead bodies."

Though the war was now in it's third year, the captain felt as if the number were closer to thirteen, or thirty. He seldom was able to keep track of the days accurately, even if he received reports from the north and west lines. And yet, there was still a part of him that wanted to believe the phrase, "Not long, now,", as if that meant, 'not long, only two more years of shit to go'. Hopefully, it's what Dalzen might have said.

But the written tracts his brother was producing were of great morale use—Jiraiya's war letters were read in any and every cell or team, large or small on the northern, western, and southern front. Newly enlisted genin were everywhere, like caterpillars, slowly entering a brown chrysalis toward fight or flight in their cells—namely both, in equal measure. Most of them were being shipped out in the west, to Ame, Kusa, or Waterfall, where the fighting was terrible and intense.

Hatake Sakumo was most needed there.

The tides were turned on several occasions, and then over-shadowed by iwa influxes elsewhere. Come the day, it was more beginning to feel like a giant game of tug of war to him. The rest of the generals were good and well sick of it, re-securing areas they thought they'd won—from both sides, not just Konoha. Foolishly, Sakumo pushed himself to the brink on the most worthy occasions—the result was a battle won, and the man was out for at least five or six days before, after reading another hopeless report, he could move again and rise to another fruitless occasion. Rinsano stuck with him loyally though, and did not like it one bit. The enigmatic 'jumps' he used to power his own self seemed to be slowly ebbing away Konoha no Shiroi Kiba to oblivion, and beyond. Sakumo merely 'jumped' to the next city, until a day in middle October, his team of sixteen were reduced to eight as an ambush from an iwa cell caught them in their territory. The rest of the Konoha men all made it out in time, but Sakumo, angry with a rage of Hell itself, stayed behind to pursue—Rinsano lost track of their captain as they were leaving the city; mines tripped by seals were still being set off as the last ones made it out—Rin had no sight through the brown billows of dust. Rinsano went with the seven, still looking behind him as he went.

.

"…Where is Kouhei-sensei?"

"He's gone off—I thought you knew," she answered. "He's gone to fight."

"…Oh…" Naoya answered.

"Why?" Natsuko inquired.

"Mm—no reason."

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She was working at the hospital now, since they most needed all the help they could get. And with the return of Keiko-san ten months ago, the head doctor was assuaged, and still fully confident they could cope with the influx of ninja. Most were Konohagakure shinobi, but they also received men and women from Ame, Taki, and the occasional rare Kusa soldier.

Yoshiko asked after the western front as often as she could, leading her questions after Shiroi Kiba, whether they knew where he was or not didn't interest her. She wanted to know that he was alive, wherever he was. He had not send any letters to her in the past year, except for the one the while ago, which was shorter in length than her ring finger. The thought drove her mad, to the point she buried herself in anything mundane like sweeping the floor or cleaning the basement. (In that at least, the husband and wife might share similarity…) And that was once the magnificent distraction of work ended, and the few hours lost to her herself began. So, she often worked overtime, just as Keiko did, or as much as they would let her get away with. Sometimes, she got lost as another working person, and she stayed up through the night a few hours in that hospital, sweeping floors, or neatening the boxes of supplies downstairs; throwing away the empty ones. That's when she knew she was losing it. She was no medic, but often she aided in certain surgeries at Keiko or another's request, requiring multiple personal, which was always shorthanded in every room.

But Yoshiko tried to keep sane, when she never knew not the whereabouts or welfare of her husband.

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Tsunade screamed, "AH-HA!"

Jiraiya nearly jumped out his zori at a regular hospital in southern Konoha. "Holy Jesus, woman, please don't do that!" He touched his ears gingerly as if he expected to find them spontaneously bleeding from the inside out.

"That damn woman can stuff it down her _own_ THROAT!" Tsunade exclaimed, "Jiraiya, I got it! I got it!" She put her head down and began writing a series of detailed instructions, on how to make an antidote, and the new ingredients to do it.

"You did…" Jiraiya turned his head gently and he was surprised to see he had a view of looking up underneath the front of her vest.

"Yes! Isn't this wonder—" Just as Tsunade looked down, he scrambled his gaze, but she flushed and quickly slapped the back of his head and kicked his knees. "You little pervert," she seethed. Tsunade irritably finished writing her note.

"Sorry," he mumbled so low, even he wasn't sure what he'd said.

"I'll go tell the doctors here," she told him, "And then we'll take this back to Konoha ourselves."

"Ok."

They headed out the door after she was finished, and the two ran north.

"Stop looking at me," she said as they traveled.

"I am not!" Jiraiya quickly defended.

"You oaf."

"Hey!" he scolded. "I am not. I just think you…look pretty, when you're saving lives."

"…Really?" her expression softened.

"Well, yeah."

"Still…Don't look at me."

"I wasn't! What, am I not supposed to look at you for the rest of my life?"

"You idiot. Just don't _stare_ at me. I hate it. You're a little snipe."

"I am not!"

"Yes you are. The corner of your lip is twitching. It usually does that whenever you lie."

"…What?" Jiraiya exclaimed. "Now THAT is erroneously _false_," he defended.

She laughed.

.

Orochimaru sat quietly under a bridge pass in Ame. His stomach had begun rumbling it's empty cries again, but he ignored it as best he could, and listened for something other than himself and the light rain falling in the city. It was the eerie feeling, the queer sound of someone watching, someone waiting. This something could have easily been himself, but a cool and just bend of paranoia set in, where he deemed it necessary to stay and watch and wait for whomever or whatever lurked in the shadows of the great city, their only city that rusted and tarnished frequently due to that country's particular and frequent rainfall. The city born in steel and metals, each folded on top of each together until they were able to pass through the clouds and into a realm of no rain and no fear. A spire bright and plain, warm and ordinary. It was beautiful in the fall.

But several ruffles broke out in the grey streets below. A young man and an older one, nearly blind, were taken prisoner by two iwa ninja, accusing them of simply trying to escape the city. Orochimaru waited still.

He knew he had some power over the silent one, beyond the reflection of himself floating in the river Orochimaru had the power to wait, and force him out, out of the wild frenzy of waiting, and into fates own cold clutches. Then, Orochimaru would move. Then, he could retaliate and finally end the mortal struggle between the two forever.

"Let it begin," the shinobi whispered.

He waited ten minutes more.

.

"I've got it," Tsunade announced later that evening, "The antidote for Chiyo's latest concoction. It was more obvious than you think." she smiled.

The lead doctor had gasped after looking at her notes. He then rushed off to inform his staff, quivering in excitement.

Jiraiya finally walked in the room and wheezed—his mother ran to him, but he smiled cheerfully. "Hi mom."

"Jiraiya…!" she hugged him tightly, "Are you all right?"

"Oh, fine…" he said, leaving out the statement she'd run the last mile faster than he.

Tsunade turned and flashed a womanly grin at him. "Goodnight, Keiko-san; goodnight, Jiraiya…"

"Goodnight," Kano responded.

Tsunade left, in direction to the lab.

"Oh Jiraiya—are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes mom…" he said, holding some annoyance.

"Oh sweetheart," she said, affectionately touching his hair, "I was so worried about you."

"I'm ok—ok?" he assured. "She, just, wanted to get here, quick…" He left out the fact they had raced. "You know, since she figured out the…antidote…"

Keiko smiled, "I'm off hours now—I was just heading out. Why don't we go home, I'll fix you something, you must be starving."

Jiraiya did not need to think twice. "Ok," he smiled.

His mother walked him out, toward home, and Jiraiya said, "I haven't seen the place in so long, you haven't changed anything, have you?"

"Well—actually, there is one, small change…"

"…Oh? What's that?"

"Well," she colored slightly, "You see, my friend Rion has recently been… homeless. So, he's been staying with me."

"For how long…?"

"For the past ten months, since I got back from the med station up north. He was in the battle, with Kakuzu and the iwa nin, I'm sure you heard of it."

"Oh…"

Jiraiya's expression was quite flat and humorless as he considered the idea, and then, as he saw it in practice, he felt odd, as if suddenly his title as only man to that house had suddenly been claimed by an unassuming 'old friend'. Jiraiya abruptly did not feel comfortable there, and skipped out on dinner, proclaiming himself to being too tired. He left and bought take-out in town, and devoured it in his tree house, wondering why he felt so strange suddenly towards his mother. It was a dinner of rice only, with heavy sauce and a small side of soup. It was Tuesday. They couldn't sell meat on Tuesday—there wasn't any.

.

He smelled cedar, strangely, and strongly, for the first time since the days of his youth. He could remember that exact smell from the old, small, cedar box he had on top of his dresser, where he stood on top a small step-stool and played with it and the contents inside, spreading the marbles out on the rug on the floor; and no matter how many times that box laid open, it still smelled so sweet. He concluded the box must have been made for at least three or four generations to have to and to hold—the old dresser still sat in the little closet-size room on the south end of the house, but the box had been moved years and years ago to the front bedroom. He said to himself he would someday let his son have it.

He couldn't feel his left leg—and there was an intolerable burning sensation in both his left arm and side—he writhed in pain as much as the debris pinned on top of him allowed. He could feel how heavy the cedar beam was by way of the presence of an old chunk of plywood pressed against his left side, from the shoulder to the waist, crushing him. His right side was relatively free save some light pieces of maple and rock. He could see white light in the cracks and gaps of his ceiling. He did not try and guess what time of day it was, only that, he believed it was his time to die. He became more aware of the certain splinter of wood lodged on his left side, directly putting pressure on his waist and arm, he could see it in his mind's eye. His leg felt increasingly numb, and his arm was much worse, he could feel the blood that had dried cracking over his skin and on his clothes—Sakumo was totally incapacitated by the pain. The cedar beam might as well have been Shukaku himself, entombing the ninja in his grave. It was less noisy than the real thing at least, letting him die with silence of consciousness pounding inside his ears.

Sakumo made attempts to move his right arm, but he succeeded no further than twitching all five digits. His right leg was fine, but also limited in movement thanks to the debris. Finally he found some gram of reserve and intended to breakaway—he only lifted his arm as a result, four inches, and then down again. He tried repeating this, and only flailed it two inches. Then, half an inch. Then none. He conceded. And then after he conceded, Sakumo accepted the pain and fought it, until the time when it would cease.

.

Orochimaru stood and a smile, satisfactory, curved his lips.

The other man fell dead on the ground, with a light mist of rain still saturating the air.

Orochimaru fled the city to recoup.

.

Jiraiya sat on the floor, on a cushion, in his tree house, writing the latest war tract. The empty container of his take-out laid on the floor next to him. While blocked after a sentence, he took out something from the inside pocket of his mauve vest he'd hung off a nail head on one of the wooden shelves. It was the letter Sakumo had sent him for his twentieth birthday. Now, less than a moment away, he would be twenty-two. Jiraiya re-read it through and smiled.

He was startled some moments later with a knock on one of the ladder slats nailed to the trunk of the tree. He looked down the hole and saw his mother standing there.

"Hi sweetheart," she said. "I just wondered if you were all right."

"Oh—yeah, fine. Why?"

She smiled, "Well, if you ever want to come see me, you may. You will always belong there, you're my son."

Jiraiya thought for a moment. "Yeah…and he's not my dad."

She smiled again. Kano looked back up through the cut out circle. "Where are you going to live?"

"Here," Jiraiya answered. "I'm going to ask Sakumo if he could help me expand it."

"…Are you sure…?"

"Of course!" he smiled, tacitly daring Konohagakure to evict him. The forestland was still undeveloped, and he genuinely believed it would remain that way for a longer time still.

"Well…all right…" she conceded. "But, Jiraiya, just understand, Rion is a friend, and he needed a place to stay. Your bedroom is still there for you. There's nothing wrong with helping out a friend, is there? He's too old to care about being nice to you anyway," she grinned. "He's old enough to be your grandfather."

"…Yeah, ok…" Jiraiya said. "But…mom…"

"...Yes?"

"Do you still think about…my father?"

Kano blinked. She took a moment to decide her words, slightly bewildered she had to consider them. "You grew up with a woman, Jiraiya, I'm surprised how little you know me…I've never stopped loving him, or thinking about him. I feel that he's gone every day, the loss is always there. Why do you think I still have his picture in the den? I still love him, Jiraiya," She looked down and decided that was all she could say; "I'll be at the hospital starting at three."

Jiraiya watched her walk away from the view in the floor. "Ok.." he said two seconds too late, and too quiet to hear. He sat there for a while, his notebook still open across his knees. He wrote a little more, from inspiration of his mother, and the thought of his father.

.

He coughed as cold air hit him—he forced his eyes open and saw a fuzzy brown-clothed man pulling away the plywood, maple and debris—the red cedar smell was gone. Sakumo could not move, nor flinch. He watched as that man looked at his leg, waist, and arm. Sakumo quickly deciphered the man was trained in medical ninjutsu—he worked on the leg first—the most painful as Sakumo could just barely hear the man say, "Brace yourself."

Less than twenty minutes later, the ninja had done all he could do, letting the leaf ninja lie where he was so as to not strain him further. It didn't matter much anyway since Sakumo was shifting in and out of consciousness intermittently. A minute later, he blinked his eyes open and recognized the ninja—a brown uniform, brown, like the color of an iwagakure vest—he bore an iwagakure headband, beneath burnt ochre color hair, and over a soft, young-faced expression. His face came into focus incrementally clearer—he looked no more than nineteen or twenty.

Still, Sakumo felt he could not move. He tried several times, with effort, but could not move his right hand more than a centimeter. There was enormous pain circling in his left side like he had never felt before. It was like a raging typhoon, howling mad, he could not think or feel anything but the pain. The iwa ninja averted his eyes, not out of stealth, but of uncalm. He fidgeted uncomfortably, as if he weren't sitting right. Sakumo focused in on him, lest he was driven mad. The young shinobi looked away; "Your leg was broken in two places. Pinched a nerve, too. Your left arm was fractured, in addition to being burned…fire-style jutsu, I guess…And…your lower abdomen was…hit, fairly badly, and grazed…I…" he hesitated, "…stopped the bleeding."

"…Why?"

"I—I patched it up, best I could, but still…"

"…Why?"

The young man's mouth twitched—for a split second, he'd smiled timidly. "There was no one else to heal," he said.

Sakumo remembered—what put him there in the first place—the slaughter of his men. For a moment, Sakumo lied beside himself to learn he had only sordidly returned the favor on what was likely to be that young man's squad. Sakumo lied there and winced.

"I can't move you, and I can't leave you, but you need medicine."

"Why—Why can't you leave?"

"Because…"

"Because what?"

The young man paused, looking tense, "You are a prisoner…And you're not just any prisoner…"

Sakumo grinned though an ugly upheaval of pain in his side, like a vice of steel.

"Don't laugh," the young man noticed.

"I'm not…" Sakumo said. "I am at your mercy. And I…am also…grateful, for what…you…have done," Sakumo took a moment to regain some strength to speak. "Thank you. But, tell me…how bad, was that…wound…on my side…?"

The young man swallowed. "You may sooner die of blood loss than gangrene. There isn't a station I know for…miles…"

An odd smile formed on his lips again, despite his shivering.

The young ninja swallowed again and said nothing.

"Looks like…it's really…the end of the…road."

"…You're welcome."

"…What?"

"You're welcome," he pronounced. "No matter…who, you had been, I would have done what I did. You're welcome."

"How…How old, are you…?"

"Twenty-three."

Sakumo blinked, as if his image were fuzzy, and should be clearer still. "Could have fooled me."

"I get that a lot," he said simply.

"I'm sorry—what is…your name…?"

"Kona, Kenichi."

"Kenichi…" Sakumo repeated, "Thank you…Now, I would…suggest…you go, and turn me in."

"…Why…?" the shinobi looked at him, completely puzzled.

"Because…I cannot move…cannot run…and you have the…obligation…to run, with a smile, and go get promoted. You deserve it."

"I don't want a promotion. I don't want honor for this. You know I…"

"…Hm?"

"Oh, why should I tell you…Oh…Well, it doesn't matter now…" Kenichi shook his head. "My ojisan was a field doctor in iwagakure. My father was a jounin on an iwa ship, in the north, and my brother is a chuunin in the south. It was just expected that I would follow."

"But…you aren't meant for this life, are you?" Sakumo took a wild guess.

"No…Wait, how did…Oh…" he finally realized. "I remember now, you're a sensory."

"…_Slight_ sensory, and no…I didn't have to feel it, I just know."

Kenichi looked him over curiously.

Sakumo took a moment to fight down the insanity beating him inside out. "I, too, have that problem. I know…what it feels like…" Maybe it was because he believed he was dying—tears came to his eyes as he spoke. "The constant knowing, that this…is all wrong. The constant feeling of…unhappiness. The constant longing...for something else. That…cursed…feeling of…duty, _responsibility_, to carry on…day to day...Curse it…"

The young ninja sat there, completely stilled—he furrowed his brow in bewilderment.

"I know it, young man…" said Sakumo, staring into the blue sky, feeling the cold chill harden like ice all throughout his body. "I live with it…every damn day…Get out…while you're still young," Sakumo suddenly gasped for air—"Get out…while you have…the choice…to chose…"

Kenichi did not sit and watch as the Shiroi Kiba began to drift away. He ran, carefully taking the Shiroi Kiba with him, and got help…

.

"Brilliant," Chairo Takahashi murmured. "Absolutely brilliant."

Jiraiya turned—Sarutobi stopped him with his words, "You have a talent, you realize that, don't you?"

"…Maybe," Jiraiya smiled. "But I much prefer being shinobi for Konohagakure. That is just a side-thing."

Hizuren grinned and stood. "Off to the presses."

.

Later in the evening, word finally reached him, via an encoded message not from a messenger hawk. Hizuren sat down and read it in his office;

_Sakumo's cell—Manjiro has ass. command—Sir, we were ambushed, lost eight men—retreatd, Sakumo went aftr iwa nin. Lost. We are commcing search with a sense. off the north platoon; no luck yet after hours into search—need more assistnce please. Rinsano. (And please send a good medic). Coordinates…_

Hizuren leapt out of his chair. "Oh damn," he dashed off to relay orders.

.

He had all the energy just to open his eyes, and no more. The darkness began to clear with every pain-filled succession, and he made out a little room, and an old woman on his right, with a face of wrinkled leather, and her eyes the clearest, most beautiful amber drown, capturing all the yellows and all the oranges like every sunrise she'd ever seen. The very color made him miss all the ones that he had not seen. Her hair was about the same color as his own, full around her head, and he could just see the collar of her kimono. It was blue, like the ocean. And with several gray blankets draped over him, he felt as cold as ice. He knew.

And he felt afraid.

He drew in breath slowly, and shortly, as if her were gasping and trying for every cool breath. For all he knew, she could have been an illusion, familiar of some other woman he'd met or seen before, come back to see him again; he did not know, and had no way of knowing. And he did not know what laid beyond the passing over—should he fear it? Was it nothingness? Was it the end? Could he call to God, and ask forgiveness? Was there still time? _O Lord,_ he thought, _please forgive me._

"He's awake," she said.

Kenichi rose up from a chair in the background.

"Well, he was," she commented.

Kenichi checked the pulse on the leaf ninja's neck; "Oh no, no no no…" The young ninja initiated more ninjutsu healing on Sakumo's side. "No!" Kenichi said. "Don't go—I promise I won't turn you in, I don't care if they kill me, I will run. I swear I will. I swear it. I want to go back to the mountains—that's what I want to do!" he said, applying more chakra. "_That_ is my dream! Please, live, please!"

Sakumo rested, and shortly dreamed of Naga on the mountain, and the flock of stars going 'round in the sky…

.

"Ryouma, don't do it—you're going to get into trouble!"

Saru ignored him and climbed further.

"Saru, don't!" he begged.

"Don't worry Kousa, I'm not gonna fall."

"Yes you are!" five year old Kousa snapped back at him. "What if father comes home and sees you?"

"Don't worry," Saru emphasized. "They're long gone."

Kousa watched his brother climb the roof of their house in broad daylight.

"Sa-_ruu!"_

"Shh."

"Saru, please, come back, don't!"

"I have to know what it looks like."

"Big. Really big. Ok?" Coushander huffed.

Suddenly, Ryouma grinned. "Holy cow…"

"What…?"

"It's huge…!"

Kousa suddenly wanted to see. "Really?"

"I can see everything," Saru marveled, looking over their family's field, over the ravine, and across at the Mihure house and land. "Wow!"

"Aw…lemmie see…"

Saru laughed as he looked down. "What was that Kousa-kun…?"

.

Rinsano was first to go in—he held a kunai high, in line with his chest, pointed at whomever enemy he might face.

An old woman and a young man sat in chairs in a bedroom on the east side—"Captain!" Rinsano startled them both.

The old woman turned—Kenichi stood there, frozen like a statue—more Konoha ninja came in and seized him, in recognition of his headband. Kenichi did not resist as they held his two hands behind his back with such force, he thought they might tear them off—

"Captain!" Rinsano said, looking over his captain's side, "Captain, Sakumo,"

"He is sleeping," the old woman said calmly. "He needs blood."

Their new medic immediately assessed the Shiroi Kiba, pulling off the blankets and reading the wounds with her eyes and chakra. Rinsano backed away, intending to question the young iwa nin.

"She's right," Kenichi blurted. "He was hurt bad, he needs a transfusion."

The two ninja held him tightly. Rinsano looked at their medic.

Tsunade grimaced—she nodded.

"Do what you need to do, Tsunade-sama," Rin told her, and she began orders.

.

He woke up some time later in a med station on the northwestern corner, the same one his step-mother had stationed herself at when she went after Rion. The same one that had received the seventy-eight Konoha ninja, and the two iwa survivors.

He felt warm—and his body felt very heavy, as if he were suddenly apart of the earth's own gravity, which was tugging at him ruthlessly. The lighting was dim for some reason; he opened his eyes easily, and met Rinsano sitting there next to him faithfully. "Hello there, sir," he grinned boyishly.

"…What…and _where_…?"

Rinsano explained where they had taken him, "We're going to move you back into the village tomorrow, isn't that great? You will get to go home, you will. By this time, a couple days from now, you'll be at _home_…"

"The war…"

"Still on," Rinsano shrugged.

"No," Sakumo shook his head, "I won't go—And what—where—what happened to my hair…?"

Rinsano smiled, "Oh Tsunade-sama cut it; she said it was only a drag on your system while you recovered. She's always right about these things, yes she is."

Sakumo could begin to move his head fairly easily, and did not feel the familiar bulk of his hair behind him in the ponytail—"God dammit…" And as soon as he'd said it, he realized in blatant awe, "I'm alive."

"Yes," Rin smiled. "Now don't go back on us again, sir," Rinsano added. "You nearly—well you almost didn't…Tsunade had a time getting you…to respond to treatment. We found you at a safe house. It seems an iwa medic helped you."

"Kona, Kenichi."

"Yes. We let him go."

"Good," said Sakumo. "He…pulled me out, and stayed with me."

"Brave little kid."

"He's twenty-three."

"Really?"

"Mm—You saw him…? And the…the old woman…?"

"Yes, they were both there, sir."

Rin looked behind him as he heard the door opened, it was Tsunade. "He's up," he said to her cheerfully.

Tsunade smiled, a rose blush leapt to her cheeks. Only twenty-two, she looked prettier than ever. "Hello sir," she said. She looked at Rin, "Did you tell him?" He nodded, and she looked over her patient, "We'll be taking you home tomorrow, Sakumo-san."

"I'm not…going anywhere."

She smiled. "You have to—it's an order—"

"Oh whose order?" Sakumo spoke indignantly, "There is _no_ order above mine—"

"Oh yes; Sarutobi has demanded it."

"Saru…_Hizuren?_ That…cheap…"

"Don't you want to go home?" Tsunade asked. "You've been out here...how long, since the start…?"

"I'm not going," he gritted his teeth unwaveringly. "There is too much at stake."

"Yes, and if you keep pushing yourself, you're going to go stark-raving mad, it happens to everybody if we're out here for too long, even you."

"What's that to mean?"

The two ninja were silent.

"Rin, tell me the status on the western front."

Rin opened his mouth, but Tsunade intervened, "Don't tell him. It's order he goes home, ands stays there for no less than four months—"

"Four months! _Four months!_ Do you think this is some kind of cold war! Our men are out there in harms way, dying by the hundreds, thousands, and we must make them understand this war, this cold-blooded _insanity_ is _uncalled for!" _Sakumo pushed his back and pulled himself up in small increments—his left arm was still in a sling. "I will send the message this ends _now,"_ he spoke each word fiercely, through his teeth.

"But…how…?" Tsunade questioned gently. "We're already…to the brink…"

"Then we will push back," he looked at her firmly. "And never stop, never surrender, never hold back until we have driven them out. I will not rest—I refuse to rest until this is done, and _all_ of us can go home."

"Well…" Rinsano smiled lightly in the face of his captain's boldness, "At least 'rest' and 'sleep' aren't the same thing…"

Tsunade's expression tightened; she was going to have a time telling this to her sensei.

And sensei, already infuriated with the man, was going to have a time explaining this to disobedience's wife.

.

Come January, they were on the offensive; the allied villages of leaf and cloud railed against tsuchi in the west, and suna, to the south. Kakuzu again reappeared in the north, and none of the taki ninja could stop him—it was left to teams of cloud and leaf. Sakumo stayed out west—Orochimaru was given command in the north, but come August, with the fighting growing intense in that region (with all the refugees of Kusa still fleeing there—leaving Orochimaru's task a difficult one), a group of young genin were set to escort a group of Kusa men and women from one of the med stations just immediately north of Konoha. Before they even reached the location however, they were ambushed by a cowardly group of iwa ninja. The Konoha chuunin in charge fought them, and urged them all to retreat—but by the time Orochimaru heard of it and made it there with a cell of sixteen, it was too late—the cowards had fled, and the young genin were all there, dead. The chuunin was not to be found. Orochimaru instructed ten to look for him, four jounin to retrieve the refugees and two to bring back the bodies. He went with the last group; among the dead was Tsunade's younger brother, Nawaki.

The chuunin was found, a quarter mile away, hanging from a tree by rope knotted tight around his neck.

Come September, marking the fourth year of war, the three students of Sarutobi were all sent west, to Rain.

On the way, Jiraiya sent off a letter for Sakumo, explaining what had happened.

The letter rallied Sakumo to his cause. A week later, another event rallied him—those iwa ninja had planned to attack the village, but Sarutobi stopped them, and drove them out in nothing short of an heroic victory, beyond anything the villagers and all of Konoha had seen before.

Come November, they had gained back considerable ground, driving out tsuchi in taki—kumo ninja were stationed there now, and even Kakuzu had dialed back to work in the shadows. Sakumo was steady and relentless in the west, winning any campaign he formulated. And his battles weren't simply the usual. He'd changed his tactics to accommodate other, less destructive methods of victory. He sought to outsmart them, rather than rely upon force not always so in abundance.

Toward December, the formerly massive and foreboding iwa army was shrinking. Still having control only in the northern city of Kusa, Sakumo purged the city of them, with the help of his own nation's army: by that time, Orochimaru was with him, and once the job was done, Sakumo was instantly on the road south, to join up with the efforts there that had recently stalled due to the resurgence of Suna's lead beast, Shukaku. He wanted to stop off in Rain to see Jiraiya—Orochimaru had told him that after their battle there, Jii had elected to stay behind "…with three small orphans. Don't know what he expects to do with them. He called it, 'reparation'. What a blind idiot…" Orochi muttered.

Despite Sakumo's longing to see his brother, he had to purse the line south, hoping instead his otouto would write him. Sakumo went with Rinsano, and him alone; the rest of the squads stationed back there for relief and protection, and as a hedge to ensure against the iwa ninja's return. Tsuchi's full surrender was not yet consummate.

But on the way south, the two ran into trouble just beyond the mountain-line; it appeared to be a training exercise involving a group of twelve sand ninja—Sakumo, still injured slightly by the win in the west, wasn't thinking clearly and fell clumsily into one of the traps practiced by the cell; it was a preliminary barrier jutsu, the kind less advanced that what he'd find elsewhere by ninja of better caliber—Rinsano went to free his captain, and one of the ninja noticed him and attacked.

"Rin!" Sakumo sounded, he immediately used his head and backed off, and went after the two after he had his footing. Sakumo easily dispatched of the suna chuunin with a genjutsu, and left the man alive, to be picked up later by his cell with no memory of the event. Sakumo went to Rin instantly and found the young man had taken a kunai to his lower abdomen. "No, Rin!" Sakumo looked around, trying to sense anything else in the area; they were in the middle of no-where. "Rin, hang on," said his captain. "I will get you help."

He did find help. By divine miracle, he came across a medical house, in the form of an ordinary looking home (it was no illusion of the sandy desert). The doctors there, three of them, were loyal to the allied cause. Rin was treated, and the head doctor, Zanura, explained he was originally from tsuchi, but his parents had moved to Rain when their company expanded. He studied medicine in rain, and practiced there, and in Konoha, and also in rural parts of Suna. His second (in command) revealed only her name, a Miss Ichijouji Kaoru. Zanura said she was suna born. The third was a tall man named Zenta Masatane, also originally from tsuchi, but sharing little homeland pride these days. He confessed (with a kind smile) he was exported due to his short-lived political career.

Rin recovered peacefully that night, as it was now Sakumo's turn to watch over him. The captain grew weary-eyed though, and walked around the little room silently, which held one other man, a shinobi from rain. In all, he was told there were six there currently, two from Konoha, three from rain, and one suna man, working for the allied causes as a spy. He'd been recently found out.

Sakumo looked out the small window, seeing a red carpet of sand in the darkness. He closed his eyes to relax and suddenly, he sensed something—someone coming their way, and fast. Sakumo alerted Zanura, and the two stood out front—it was the house's reliable messenger Zanura had trusted with the security of the building—"Zanura-san, I bring bad news," he said, after he got over the shock of the Shiroi Kiba standing before him. "I've learned the suna ninja will be coming through this pass to strike Konoha."

"…Are you certain?"

"Positive. You'd best evacuate everyone."

"Mm. Seems so. I was just growing fond of this little house, too."

"…There is another option," said Sakumo.

"Oh?"

"This could be perfect—think of it. I'm here, now, I can stop them."

"What? By _yourself?"_

"There's no harm in trying, but that would mean sending out a message of my own, to all those Konoha could spare."

"They're…they're coming in two waves," the messenger explained. "The first, from what I gathered, are some footman and a few top class jounin and chuunin, for the preliminary strike. The second…are the rest of the chuunin, genin…and…"

"And...what?"

"And their tailed beast, Shukaku…"

"Oh. Is that all?"

"Is that all?" the two exclaimed horrifically.

Zanura stared at him, completely stunned. "Really—could you honestly _survive_ the first wave?"

"When is it arriving?"

"Two days, I believe," the messenger said. "You might have a few hours more."

"Enough time to evacuate," Zanura remarked.

"Well, I grant you," said Sakumo, "It's entirely your decision."

"Yes. It is. And believe me, my instinct is to pack up, close up, and get the hell out of here…but…I barely know you, Shiroi Kiba, and yet, I know you're going to need a medic very badly when you stay for the fight."

Sakumo smiled furtively. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he grinned. "I have never done anything like this before. I hope you will bear with me just as much as I you."

"You are _both_ mad…" the messenger muttered.

"Thank you," Sakumo said again. "Depend on it. You have my word, I will defend this house with my life, and I will coordinate this last stand."

Sakumo instantly began making preparations. He summoned both Hairo and Korado first and told them to reverse summon to Keiko and directly relay the news to her and Sarutobi. After the two left, Sakumo set to work on making the traps.

He made many, many fail safes in defense of the medical house. He set up a wide field perimeter barrier, sending the battle kilometers back, in the open sand, in the valley near a mountain. From there on, it was numerous seal traps and wire, hidden holes, and hidden daggers. He only wished he could hide a bijuu in the sand that would pop up and begin hurling buckets of ice water at them. Sadly, Rokubi belonged to water country, and he was pretty sure the beast wasn't on it's way; not that it could move fast enough to come in any case. But sand ninja never fought fair—at least in his experience, so he was sure they would mind having the favor finally returned unto them; he was used to having offence taken against him. It was natural. He also laid out metal from a disassembled bed frame Zanura had in storage, and covered them in the sand (with Hairo's quick and expedient help), marking them with grey stones so he knew where they were at. Lightning was effective toward earth-type ninjutsu, but yet at the same time, it was next to useless against wind—hence he never liked the idea of this war from the start—but at any chance he could use his innate element, he would take it. After all, using his natural element used less chakra than anything else he could conjure.

He also made sure he slept well, before the first wave of the fight, which was, perhaps, the hardest thing of all.

Rin was still recovering.

At the even of the arrival of the first wave, Sakumo was sitting outside, trying not to feel too anxious, but run over logical scenarios in his mind to compensate for whatever the jounin were capable of. Rin was finally moving in increments, but could not yet join his captain. Keeping alert by way of a cup of brown soup the woman had given him, he straightened as he saw odd movement on the horizon.

It was only a hawk—coming in from the north, one with a definable violet sash about it's neck.

Sakumo calmed, letting his poise relax somewhat.

Teguri flew down and cawed. He removed the rolled note on her foot, and she began pecking at his arm before he could get it unrolled. He smiled and let her have the rest of the contents in the liquid.

Sakumo unfurled the paper and read, _Dearest Sakumo, I know what is about to take place—I'm trying to get there in time. There is something crucial you must be aware of about the host of the Shukaku. He is very young and very adept at genjutsu, please be aware. He knows all of the Old tricks, trust me, the very ones your sensei and my husband used to know. I don't know how he could be taken down. He is truly a wall. Please take care, and God be with you in the fight. I want to see you, I want you to be in the room when this village finally surrenders. I believe in you, in your power, and I know your sensei is still looking after his favorite pupil. So please remember what I said about the genjutsu. Good luck, young Sakumo, I know you need it. Yours, Masago._

.

"He's…what…"

Keiko had just finished telling her, in her den.

"This battle…could end it," Kano tried to say gently, but the implications out-weighed the feminine emotion.

Rion went into the kitchen as Sakumo's wife broke down and cried. It's was only natural for them to do, he supposed. Keiko did it. And after they had their 'good cry', they were up and running again. Rion just disliked they had to cry in the first place…it was rather pointless…

.

Later that evening, when the two were alone before her shift started, he asked her, "You think it'll be over…week's end…?"

"I don't know," Kano said, her head and arm on his chest. "It's up to…" Tears welled to her eyes as she had a vision of Sakumo, fifteen, going to meet his father for the first time. He'd grown up so much.

He looked down at her and half-smiled, "Not you, too…" he uttered.

She straightened a little and told him, "Coushander never would have dreamed Sakumo could hold that kind of power. Dalzen let on it, Coushander disavowed it—he thought it was all Saru, and now, I wonder, what Coushander's true potential might have been; wind is a strong type, it can overpower lightning. It couldn't have been all Saru. Coushander was an…able ninja, he just didn't know much ninjutsu, and he never practiced. And Sakumo…" She laughed and cried at the same time. "He's grown up, so much…to think this whole village…is _depending_ on him…" Her vision blurred and he rested a hand against her hair, and reposed. Keiko smiled. "I just can't believe…" she murmured, wishing she could hold Coushander's son one more time.

"He is that…" Rion responded. "…A prodigy, maybe."

She laughed sorrowfully, "An unwilling prodigy; oh Sakumo…Be careful…" she prayed.

.

Teguri pushed down the white porcelain cup with her beak and it rolled on the sand, and with her beak, she finished off the vegetable bits.

"Must have been hungry," Sakumo smiled.

The hawk ignored him and with her claw, tried to paw one last piece of meat from the back of the cup.

He got to thinking of everything that had happened that year—so much of it hell. Red hell. And Takato was long gone, along with so many others like Seichi, whose last battle had been in the north, with the Ichida and the rest of them. That strong and bitter sensation of loss and pain, external and internal, strangely cleared his thoughts for a small moment, focusing that loss onto the final battle, now. Sakumo noticed Teguri was still pecking the ground, but after a moment, she settled and rested on the sand, plumping herself comfortable to rest.

"Eat, drink, and be merry…" he thought aloud.

"For tomorrow, we die," finished the woman.

Sakumo blinked and turned, startled—"Miss Kaoru?"

"Sorry," she said unemotionally as she stood silently in the doorway, her hands folded over her chest.

"I didn't realize…" Sakumo thought as to the reason he could not sense her. She could mask her chakra—exceptionally well.

"Most people don't. Enjoying the view?"

"Oh—quite."

She watched the hawk for a moment, and then stared into the horizon. Her light blonde hair held glints of silvery blue in the moonlight. "Gets very quiet, before the storms," she commented.

"I've had enough metaphors plaguing me for the past four hours, thank you," Sakumo grinned. "I'm sorry. I was just joking with you. Please go on."

"It's a way of comfort," she said simply. "There's nothing to be done for it," her cerulean eyes blinked. "Just sitting—standing here idly before the hand of fate comes crashing down…What a wait," she sighed.

"Indeed," he quarter-turned and glanced up at her, half expecting she might lower her stiff defenses and sit with him.

She only glanced at him, then back to the distant dark line where the sky met the sand.

"I'm not a fighter," Kaoru disclosed.

"I didn't ask you to be."

"...Fine," she said. "But like Zanura, I'll be waiting…to see."

"Thank you."

She nodded. "You're welcome."

.

Sakumo sat out there alone for another half hour before he made up his rather aberrant mind and thought of something he should most definitely do.

He went back in the house, and asked for a sheet of paper, and a pen. Zanura gave him both. Sakumo returned to sit on the sand, leaning his back on the house. Teguri was still with him, gone to sleep on the cold sand. He rested the notepad on his knee and thought, and wrote, _I cannot hope enough that you might forgive me someday. I am a horrible correspondent, and the matter is only made worse in lieu of the fact you are my wife and deserve far better than what you have been enduring. I have not been ignorant of it, and I am so sorry much more than you will ever know. I write this now while waiting for the armada to come. Being in my position is no excuse for not writing to you more often than I did. I love you, I still love you, and I miss you. I miss the peaceful life we had before all this began, and it seems so precious short to me now, but your face is still in my thoughts, dear as it was then. I am so sorry I did not come home. Please believe me when I say that, my love. Please believe. This war took on a life of it's own. I had no idea it would, or could, I care very much about the fate of our nation, and more importantly, the people of it. I didn't know I could fight this hard before, but I felt it was required of me. I hope you know that, but it's still hard, on both of us, I promise you. I don't deserve your patience with so little actions of my own. I received every one of your letters, and I can't tell you enough how much I treasured every one, and how much I wanted to see you again and hold you in my arms. I'm truly sorry I passed up that chance. It's all my fault. When this is over, I'll treat you better. I will try and be a better man for you, and a husband first, instead of shinobi. Please accept this apology. I love you more than anything. And I will come home to you, though it might still be a while yet. When I fight, hours from now, I will fight for you, and our unborn family. I love you, Yoshiko, please know that. I wish I were with you now. Until I see you, Yours Eternally, Sakumo_

.

Korado delivered the note.

.

After he began to sense the multitudes of chakra in the distance, Sakumo waited for them behind a crag of red rock over the sand, his blooding pounding warmly through his veins. He wasn't sure exactly where it came from at the moment, but a small, insane smile molded his dry lips and he murmured, "Hello, boys…" before it all began.

.

"That fool," Sarutobi muttered, biting his nail. The smoke of his pipe had puffed out, while sitting on the desk too long. "That young little fool."

"…Sir…? Do you…wish to recall the order?"

"And let him die? Never."

"Do you…Do you think he'll…survive?"

Hizuren took a moment to decide. Picking up his pipe, he set it back down again in agitation. "Our fate is decided. Oh—what the hell am I saying? Dammit, he _must!_ Sakumo is the most genius man I know—he knows his fate. He has faced death. Not just in this war, but it is a most recent reminder. He knows what he is to do. I just wish…there had been some other way. _Any_ other way, than this," Sarutobi looked up at the ceiling in angst.

.

_Yours Eternally, Sakumo_

"…Sakumo!" she cried, and said nothing else during the remainder of the lonely night.

.

"What is he doing?" the five year old girl asked with the bark brown hair and soft, round face.

"He hates that thing," Coushander looked on, over the fence, spying through the tall yellow stalks of wheat.

"So what's he doin'?" Matty asked, trying to hold onto his shoulder to see. She was no taller than a waste basket yet, but infinitely cuter.

"He's…still not moving," Coushander squinted, puzzled by his twelve-year old brother's behaviour.

"Did he find somethin'? On the ground?" Matty peered through the wheat.

"Maybe. I don't know. I think he's got…"

Matsuko held onto Coushander's clothes for her balance as she looked at the short break in the field, where Saru was. They waited silently, and curiously, on a warm fall day. Suddenly, Saru stood, and grinned—he ran back into the field in their direction carefully, as to leave as little or no trail behind him, leaving the scythe out in the open. "Saru!" Coushander leaned forward expectantly—Matsuko lost her balance and Ryouma caught her before she fell. He lifted her gently back on the ground.

"What were you doing?" Coushander finished.

Saru climbed the fence and leaned on it, waiting for their father to show. "You'll see," he grinned again. His stripes may have twinkled if they could, but his mother's dark ebony eyes secured that magic instead.

Coushander half-rolled his eyes, "Aw, come on..."

Meanwhile, Matsuko began climbing the fence on her own again.

"What did you do?" his younger brother asked again impatiently.

Saru turned and helped the girl, lifting her back up on the top rail impressively. The girl let her right hand clutch the left sleeve of Saru's blue robe as extra insurance for her small, tipsy frame.

"Just wait, Coushander, you'll see. When father comes by…" he smiled at his handiwork, about to bloom, or travel…

"Where is he?"

"Went to get a pail."

"Ok…" Coushander reluctantly agreed to the wait.

Less than a minute later, Takeshi returned with the translucent plastic bucket and looked around curiously—the three kids hid their faces from the fence line, and watched furtively. Takeshi bent over and picked up the scythe. He again looked around for his son, but saw nothing, and tacitly concluded his twelve year old troublemaker had copped out once again for some frivolous, inane reason and was down in the ravine again, catching baby catfish with old screen-door mesh tied around a stick. Takeshi looked at the face of the yellow, dry, field, and smiled, and took a great swing with his scythe…

…The inanimate object leapt sideways, on his left, and darted and dashed around in all diagonals around him. Takeshi no sooner looked in the direction it was going, than it spun a new course and finally danced west, and flew through the fields like a crazed wood rod with it's sail, the blade and fin, swimming behind it, dragging earth lines in the sod. "What…the…hell…!" their father uttered in total shock. The scythe continued to zip west, where it dipped over the side of the ravine, but relentlessly climbed back out again, and headed for the Mihure's land, an unforeseen, but amusing turn.

"Oh no…" Takeshi murmured, "MIHURE!" he shouted, and ran after his scythe.

Meanwhile, the three kids were laughing themselves silly, to the point they were deliriously drunk with laughter.

But the end result was not near so pretty, or perfect.

Coushander never knew the boundaries of his father's inherent rage until that night: Takeshi could have none. The only thing that saved his brother from being another unregistered victim was Sayoe, their mother, who could see the childish fun in what he did, but never dared admit it, or else she too would have been an unregistered (but often well-spoken of) victim. She dared not allow Takeshi hit him because the shouting—the shouting and yelling had been loud enough. After that day, Coushander both feared his father, as well as loved him. Saru could not say the same. The idea of outcast was more than a passing concept, it was his destiny.

"Saru," a little voice quietly whispered, "Are you still awake?"

He did not say.

Kousa rolled over and sighed, smiling one last time over the afternoon prank before he slept.

.

"I'm going eighty percent."

"Ei…what?"

"They're still coming!" Kaoru reasoned. Her hands were over Sakumo's heart.

"But…you…"

"My eighty may be his sixty-five, at least, or fifty," she said, initiating her chakra transfer jutsu. It was a secret ninjutsu, taught to her by her grandmother. "They are still coming, and we need him."

A great burst of energy flowered from her wrists and traveled into Sakumo.

"Oh—" Zanura looked out the window suddenly, "Another four-man cell is here."

"Our side?"

"Our side."

"Does that make two, or three?"

He looked back at her sternly, but the expression quickly faded, in sight of what she was doing. He remembered her telling him she vowed she would not use that jutsu on any man. "Are you fond of him?" he asked her.

"I took off his ring, before his finger swelled," she answered. "It was done out of charity. Why should I like him? I hate every man."

"Yes. Everyone knows you're very equal to us that way."

She forced more chakra down his network, beneath his unconscious, sleeping eyes, "Dammit," she uttered, her progress stalled.

"Relax," he told her. "They haven't even come close to the door yet."

"No, no, something's not…Something's not right—He should be at least thirty—forty percent by now."

"So? What do you feel?"

"I've...only restored…ten…fifteen..!"

Zanura had never seen the making of panic in her—she was sweating, and her blue eyes were wide and anxious. "Hey now, relax. I know you're an ardent perfectionist, but if that's all you can do, that's fine. I always knew I'd die without a wife and children."

"Shut _**up!"**_ she shouted at him, not appreciating his sarcastic mirth. She closed her eyes and focused, telling herself in her mind she could do it—she opened her eyes and felt twenty percent of capacity in him, while she'd spent over half her chakra now. "I can't believe this," she murmured. "I can't believe he has this much chakra!"

"Well. Certainly explains why he incapacitated most of the first wave."

"Are there more coming, do you see, on our side?"

"Not since the last four."

Thirty percent, she felt, and she was tiring fast; seventy percent of her chakra was now gone, to Sakumo. She pushed herself to eighty, her set mark in her mind, on her own account. It only brought him to thirty-five.

Kaoru slowly released herself and staggered backward—Zanura caught her arm before she backed into a little cart behind her. "Whoa," he said, "That's enough now—well done. Now rest."

Lying on the table, Sakumo slowly opened his eyes.

Kaoru leaned forward, and supported herself using the table. She smiled a little as her eyelids felt heavy, watching Shiroi Kiba's open. Her body felt enormously weak, and she begged to sit down, but remained standing, in spite of herself. Her arms began shaking and quivering with anxiety. Zanura stood by him, and Sakumo stared, "What's…going on…?"

"The first wave is through. Three Konoha teams have showed, keeping the rest busy. One while Masatane brought you in, and two about ten minutes ago, and three just now."

"How many…?"

"About twelve of them…or so." As if there was hope there were thirteen, or maybe even fourteen men out there.

Sakumo could feel his heart beat faster, worrying about the next wave, wondering when it might arrive. Kaoru caved and sat down on another empty table, keeping still as she sat, lest she began to feel dizzy and weightless, spending so much chakra in a short amount of time.

"Hatake-san," Zanura said, "Can you stand?"

Kaoru looked up, and watched the man do so, slowly.

"Would you mind standing outside with me—there is something I should like to tell you, it won't take a moment…"

She watched them leave, and then she closed her eyes in her moment of weakness and sighed deeply, feeling completely torpid like a snail and utterly exhausted. After a moment, she laid herself down and in her gut, the feeling of imminent danger caught up with her and Kaoru felt sick with worry. She abhorred the fact she failed. She never tolerated it from herself before.

The White Fang came back a minute later.

At first, she did not move, but as her eyes glanced at him, she looked again, gazing upon his open face, a pensive, thoughtful sight she had never seen before. The whole of his attention was on her, and she sat upright, as if she suddenly felt a warm wind of strength seep into her; she stared hopelessly at him.

"Thank you," he said.

Finally, she looked away. "I failed. I meant to revive you at least _half_ of what you—"

"Thank you," he said. "It's enough."

Uncharacteristic of her, she looked at the floor miserably.

"It's enough," he said again. "You don't have to fear anything. I made a promise to Zanura, and I will keep it. This place will not fall," Sakumo smiled. "You are one if it's defenders. You're a different kind of fighter."

The smile left her before she could have a chance to keep it in her memory—he was out the door, and back on the battlefield. Zanura returned, and looked at her. "I suppose this is the best time to sleep…so do so."

"What about you?"

"Masa and I can handle it."

Reluctantly, she laid back down, and listened to the reticence around her lull her to some lazy, restful sleep for a couple hours…

.

Korado summoned himself to his former master—Keiko was in the middle of a surgery with several other doctors and a blood-tolerant janitor—luckily, her aide let her go and she stared at the red hunter, "The first wave is through," he said in the hallway, "Sakumo sent me."

She wanted to scream with joy—the dog ran in the opposite direction, seeing the hokage tower, and she too returned to her duties with a grin and a pure thunderbolt of joy in her heart, "It's through, it's through!" she repeated, "He's alive!"

.

"What…the…"

The red hunter leapt onto the man's desk and looked on impatiently, "Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

"He did it?" Sarutobi exclaimed, "No…Now way—_He did it?"_

"Yes. I have been trying to tell you that for the past ten minutes. Now, can we move beyond that fact, and can I relay any message?"

"Um…!" Sarutobi began laughing.

"All…right…then…" the dog said, turned, and leapt down.

"No—wait," Hizuren said. "Tell him…Well done. Tell him…" the hokage thought, and was interrupted in that thought by a carrier jounin, come rushing into his office without knocking—"It's over," the ninja announced. "Iwa has surrendered."

"What?"

"Message came in a minute ago," the carrier produced the letter.

Sarutobi read it. "Korado," he said. "Tell him…it's over. You've heard. It's over. But…there's one last fight to be won. Tell him…that I am on my way."

"Yes hokage-sama," the dog said, and vanished.

.

The news rallied them all one last time.

The fourteen men began fighting the second wave five hours later, with Sakumo, not at half-strength. And, though he was not at full strength either, and limited in movement, Rinsano informed his captain he still had a jump or two left in him yet, with a boyish smile. And more Konoha cells began to show, winded from their journey, and forced to fight just as soon as they arrived. Soon the fourteen against nearly a thousand became fifty, then a hundred, then two, as more allied shinobi made it to the sandy address of the last fight, and at last, Sakumo was face to face with the sand beast Shukaku. Like an ugly, monstrously deformed beige _tanuki_, it moved and shook the ground with every step, like earthquakes in each foot, and a blast of sand and the wind of hell in each front claw. From what Sakumo could tell, the host was still semi-conscious, able to initiate his genjutsu. He did so, and it was exactly like Murasaki had foretold; the style was almost Dalzen's.

Sakumo blocked it easily, dodging the beast's crazed swipes and his _renkudan_, the wind-style jutsu that was certain deadly if even partially hit by it.

Focusing on the host, who initiated another genjutsu, at a higher caliber, Sakumo had to flee the nostalgia and escape from it, wondering seriously how the host could have been trained this exceptionally well in the jutsu, almost signature of Dalzen. "Who are you," Sakumo wondered, and leapt onto the beast. Shukaku did not like this, and the host let the beast jump and buck—Sakumo ran straight for the host, stationary between Shukaku's eyes. He had the hit ready in his hands, but the host turned and blocked him—Sakumo caught his balance behind him and went at him again from the front. Sakumo saw his face clearly—and he was shocked again; the host was able to hold Shiroi Kiba's fist—the boy could not have yet been fifteen. Furthermore, Sakumo could see under the young man's vest, a violet scarf tired around his neck, tucked under his shirt. "Daisuke," recognized Sakumo, "What are you doing…?"

Beneath him, Sakumo's feet held fast to the beast's head; sand covered his feet—Sakumo broke off and centered his chakra, and he broke free—the host issued a strong burst of a genjutsu, and for a brief, still moment in time, he saw the land of the Azurano. Sakumo broke free on his own when the memory shattered like glass and leapt behind the boy, producing a kunai and aimed it—a wall of sand deflected it's blow, and Sakumo quickly tried going around it but he was unsuccessful every time. Finally, he landed in front of the host and instead, used taijutsu and hit the beast's head, hoping to neutralize the defenses for the second he vanished and reappeared behind the boy, aiming the kunai on his right shoulder—it hit, but the Konoha ninja lost his balance and found it as he leapt off the beast and re-grouped back on the sand.

Sakumo gathered what little left he had and prepared a lighting-style jutsu, to herald away the beasts movement from the fight. The last thing he needed was for Daisuke to loose his anger and let the beast rage on his own countrymen, still arriving. He chose lighting in hopes of blinding both the beast and jinchuuriki and attack then in the light.

A grey stone was sitting nearby, so he leapt in the air and conducted the current best he could; a bright white and tremendous flash bolted out at the beast, and Sakumo seized his chance, and leapt again to the beast's head and hit the teen square on the face…

Shukaku crumbed beneath them like the remnants of the ugly, horrid, nightmarish shell of terror—and Sakumo caught the teen in his arms as they fell. Sakumo took the brunt of the fall on purpose and got the breath knocked out of him as a result—it took him a full minute and a half to recover, and swallow air again, but two sand chuunin were on to him—in the nick of time, the red hunter took on the two and rammed himself into one. Rinsano jumped in from the east side and took the other one. Daisuke was not moving, but Sakumo was unable to check on him due to the more pressing matters—Rin was pushed nearly two hundred yards by a great gale and Korado landed soon beside him. Sakumo engaged them both, having to use lightning based attacks since he had less than an ounce of stamina left in him to do anything else. His attacks failed; at least one shinobi used fire, and the other used wind ninjutsu as their response: Sakumo was hurled backward and gashed severely across his arms, his element largely useless now with waning chakra equaling a last grain of sand in an hourglass…Three more sand ninja came in from the east, and another, each aiming intently for the Shiroi Kiba. Their line of fire included their own jinchuuriki, which they overlooked carelessly, too thrilled with the idea of nailing their elusive Shiroi bastard, but Sakumo saw it in time, and with his last, he used his speed only to reach Daisuke and erect the strongest shield of lighting possible. He shut his eyes tightly, and heard the scythe of the wind pierce through he defense on his backside. A fire jutsu deflected, a water jutsu deflected, but the wind finished him; he could feel his neck and left shoulder burning after the brilliant white shroud around him disappeared—Sakumo keeled over, and heard a dog bark and a hawk cry faintly in the distance before he fell unconscious.

More Konoha chuunin came to the rescue, and so did two other, newly arrived to resurrect the fight in their favor: Orochimaru, and Tsunade.

.

"What do you think of him?"

"Me? Of him? Who?"

"My brother."

"Oh. Well…He needs a lot more training. He's a little dumb—knuckle headed—I mean, inexperienced with ninjutsu. What I mean is, he's a little slow, grasping all this stuff. It's not like how it was with you."

"He's a wind type though. He's stronger than me."

Harou laughed. "Not right now he's not. It would take him a very long time to figure out how to beat you. That's what I meant, I'm not sure he's all that interested in learning ninjutsu. Quite odd for a ninja," he smiled. "Not unexpected though for an ordinary family—excluding you, of course."

"But he could be more powerful than me," Saru said contemplatively.

"Just because he has an element advantage doesn't mean he will be able to tap into it properly. I've seen man men ruled by their element, and not the other way around."

Saru grinned. "You're sitting with one of them, cheap-skate."

"I didn't mean you," Harou refused. "At least you can _do_ something with yours, Coushander can't even manage substitution jutsu in a simple sword fight yet. Where it stands, you might as well be David and Goliath—only he doesn't have any flat rocks in his satchel yet."

Saru smiled, "Where did that come from?"

He shrugged. "My nomadic ways hear interesting stories now and then. When I was in tsuchi I met an old shaman in the mountains, and he told me a fortune."

"Oh?"

"Said I would die, watching my eyes."

"Do you believe it?"

Harou shrugged. "Guess I don't know what it means, really. Maybe I'll die in a genjutsu or something, who can say."

"I believe that's one of the worst ways to die. In a genjutsu."

"Yeah, I don't want it either," Harou agreed. "I hate people who can do that, you know."

"You hate everybody," Saru smiled.

"Yeah, well, _them_ especially. Sure, we learned the basic stuff and how to block it, yeah, but the people who can really _really_ do it. The strongest illusions a man could ever do. Good, and bad."

"There—you said it, _good_ illusions. There are good ones too…Like day-dreams," said Saru, staring off into the night with the note still folded carefully in his front pocket. "The best ones in the world, you'd bet your life just to go."

"I hear you," Harou smiled. "I so hear you."

.

"…Will he be all right?" she poked her face in the door.

"I stopped the bleeding," Tsunade answered. Sakumo lied unconsciously on his right side, and Tsunade was still working on him.

"Miss Kaoru," Masatane called from another room, "Could you help me?"

"Oh, yes…"

The long battle, the long and grueling hellish year was over. Suna's surrender came a few hours later, after the battle had ended. "Sakumo-san," she continued calling out to him, "Can you hear me?"

"Is he alive?" Orochimaru appeared at the open doorway with a heavy limp.

"He is luckier than any man I know," Tsunade explained how close he had come, when the wind chakra hit the majority of the back of his left shoulder and the base of his neck in a critical spot. She could not explain for the life of her how it narrowly missed the veins in his neck, or for that matter, did not decapitate him or sever the nerves down his spine; she speculated maybe he had put up a last second defense. It was either that, or the luck theory, and for some reason, she couldn't buy into either one, she wasn't _that_ kind of betting woman, not with Shiroi Kiba. Orochimaru helped her lay him flat, and she took a good long look at him, half-expecting to see the face of a guardian angel sitting somewhere near his left shoulder. She saw nothing but some stray sand and cooled sweat, and she was forced to see another critical patient. But Tsunade looked behind one last time quickly, as if whoever it was would stand to appear only in the darkness and solitude.

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	39. In Due Course

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 39  
_**In Due Course**_

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"My God…" Sarutobi uttered, seeing the bloody bandages around his neck, shoulder, and both arms.

"He will live," Kaoru said to him, with a small smile. "Tsunade-sama has been looking after him, personally."

"…I hope he hasn't distracted her from anything."

"Sakumo is a good, unassuming patient, sir. He has not a devious bone in his body. We checked."

Hizuren smiled for the first time since arriving there. A big smile warmed his face, looking over the sleeping form of his top jounin. "Thank you," he said, to both of them.

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"He's been waking up sporadically, and he can't really speak that well," Tsunade further explained.

"Yes, the other woman told me," Masago replied. "I'd still like to wait here."

"All right," Tsunade agreed, glancing at another patient in the room. "Oh, and hey, if you should see an angel or spirit or something, tell me what it looks like."

Masago raised an eyebrow.

Tsunade smiled. "No reason…" she left them alone.

Masago, forty-three now, had aged quite a bit since the days she aided Sakumo and Sarutobi with the Zensare brothers back in the neutral zone. She wore looser clothes, and was no longer with Sunagakure; she had quit before the war, weary of the life, and wishing to spend the rest of hers in a home with her new family, but those simple plans never met fruition.

She waited patiently (as best she could) for a chance to speak with the young man she still remembered as the odd little silver-haired child in Dalzen's team. Her first impression was a definite one (she formed one of all people), and she knew the little boy was the odd one out. From life, from love, and from strength. She believed he still was, with much evidence now to support such a claim. Older now, but still singular and silver-haired. He also appeared emaciated, from the past three hellish days of considerable war, and considerable strife…

He finally stirred at one-thirty, and woke without opening his eyes—she could begin to hear his short, uneven gasps for breath, nearly like a dying man on the precipice of life or death. The two women were confident he'd live, but Masago saw it differently, seeing clearly how much pain he was in; "Sakumo?" she asked. His entire body tensed, like it were stiff, and tight; she could hear him fight it. "Sakumo, it's me, Masago."

He could not speak—he opened his eyes, and saw her, at his right side, sitting on something, he could not turn his had even a millimeter to see. "Mas…" he whispered faintly.

"It's all right," she said, smiling herself, out of levity, "I just wanted to thank you. I saw what you did for my son—Teguri saw it. I can't thank you enough."

"…Why…" he whispered again, "was he…made…"

"Made the host?" Masago sighed to herself. "About five years ago, I was going to take him to a house Hideki had bought in that border town, just south on the neutral zone. He was working for a state intelligence agency at the time. We thought…we'd retire there," she smiled wistfully. "We had everything planned out, until the time the drafts came in. They—the council, our suna council became interested in Hideki, concerning the genjutsu tricks he learned from Dalzen. So interested, they wouldn't leave him alone. We knew the real reason behind their motives: it was because of you. They were anticipating, even planning the war back then, with tsuchi as their ally. Now you know Hideki and me, we aren't ones to run, but I felt…it was necessary. I had quit with Sunagakure, because I knew it would almost certainly come to war. I managed to retrieve Daisuke from the village, and head north, but by the time we got there, they'd tracked us down. I…I escaped, but they took my son," she said painfully.

"He was so young," she picked up again, "So young, and the sand ninja, I learned, convinced him that we were traitors, and concocted a story that we were Konohagakure spies. After that, I reached our new home—it was all destroyed," she shook her head. "They had gone looking for Hideki and his old notes, but he had already destroyed them all, thank God. I couldn't find him, at first; he had fled north of the border to hide it out, in tsuchi…He was almost caught, on about five dozen different occasions, but he stayed safe," She took a deep breath and sighed. "All I want now is to have my son back—I got to see him, in the chakra field—he's wary of me."

"Did you…talk…to him…?"

"No, I couldn't," she admitted. "The guards wouldn't let me."

"Bring in…Tsuna…" Sakumo coughed, and felt pain surge around his left shoulder like he'd never felt before.

Masago did as he asked—"Sakumo-san?" Tsunade inquired, standing over him.

"This woman…will talk to that…jin…chuuriki…"

"Yes sir," Tsunade nodded.

"Thank you," said Masago.

"No—it was, because of me…they went after—"

"No," she readily disavowed, "You could say it was because of Dalzen," she smiled. "And so on, and so on. I don't hold you, or him to the flame," she said. "You saved my son's life. I wish I could repay that somehow."

Sakumo did not know what to say (or whisper), so he saved his strength and said nothing.

Tsunade showed her out, and Sakumo received another visitor: Sarutobi Hizuren. "Hello…" his warm smile faded as he saw how pale his top jounin looked.

Sakumo blinked, but could not speak.

"Just came in to see you," he said. "I'm going to be there, on the twelfth, when we sign the armistice papers. I would have hoped you could come along, but that's—"

Sakumo remembered what Masago had wished for in the letter she wrote before the battle began. "—I will…come," he murmured.

"No. That is completely out of the question," Hizuren said firmly. "You deserve to be home. In fact, you will—"

"No…I must do this…" Sakumo whispered stoutly. "Then, I swear…Home, can take me."

"But…could you _walk_, in six days…?"

"I…will…" Sakumo vowed it.

Sarutobi re-considered. "No—" He shook his head firmly, "You will not—"

"Yes, by God…or else…"

"All right…all right," Sarutobi allowed. He did not mean to, but somehow, Sakumo had that odd looking in his eyes like he couldn't leave the subject alone. It was a look of stout, commanding resistance—stubbornness; the kind of stubborn that almost reminded him of a Senju.

"Hiz…" Sakumo's throat went dry—he swallowed, and his left shoulder twinged and ached beyond belief. "Where…is…Rin…?"

"…Rin?"

"Rinsano."

"Um—I don't know, but I will go check for you…"

It took Sandaime a while, but reported back with a warm smile, Rin was going to live also.

The news strengthened his spirit, and news also came by later of a different tone from Masago. She said the war gave Daisuke no interest in continuing to be host to the beast. Already, in two years, it had given him those dark and sleepless circles under his eyes, typical of the jinchuuriki of the past. But since suna and tsuchi's surrender, the jinchuuriki were only to be released after a set period of time, on certain conditions. Sarutobi had re-read all the rules and stipulations devised by the Senju in the first great war, and all five villages had once agreed. Since the beast could also not be transferred without killing the host, Daisuke was all but chained to his chains. There was no known jutsu in existence that could revive the dead.

But Masago said she would stay close to him Though he seemed a restless beast these days, he needed love more than ever. Masago said something told her, he would come around before long.

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Sakumo carried out a wish for Masago, and in addition to Sandaime of Konohagakure, Shiroi Kiba of Konoha was in the room also. He received staunched and agitated looks.

But finally, once on the way home, Shiroi Kiba grew anxious.

On December nineteenth, a Tuesday, they were only ten miles outside his home, but Sakumo continued stopping every now and then like a lost man, wondering if the men he left behind him at the medical house were all right. He quickly regretted not staying, and he believed he needed to go back—and that need nearly turned into hysteria, a strong but not foreign word for the Hatake. Having a full out panic attack, Sarutobi knocked the Hatake out himself, suddenly very pleased he decided to accompany the jounin, and a chuunin carried him home.

But after hysteria's wife nearly turned so—she began to calm (and tear a little) as Sarutobi took the time to explain to her in detail, most everything he'd been through; about his injuries, which were healed about seventy percent (in Tsunade's words) almost two weeks to the day he got them. After that, he asked her if she would be all right on her own, and she nodded, smiling tearfully.

Hizuren left her that way.

And she waited for him to wake up, so she might say an overjoyed 'hello' after four years, and almost three long months…

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Keiko was preparing to go home that night after another long and endless day. She worked until ten-thirty (again) and took off her gloves in the washroom. She pulled the hard knot from the back of her dyed black hair and took an almost equally long look in the looking glass. Now that more ninja were coming home, the special treatments and surgeries the field doctors could not perform were all being completed at the Konohagakure hospital. Her wrinkled face in the mirror smiled when she remembered she'd see Rion when she got home, and of the fact Sarutobi had told her Sakumo was finally safe and sound tonight. But her Jiraiya was still west in rain country, wiping the emotion clean off her face, and she still did not know when he was coming back. For that reason, she sighed deeply and packed up and left the busy and crowed lobby—the lazy uneventful days she once knew of the place were long over. But Kano recognized an older woman, seeming to be waiting just beside the steps, near the new little garden area the nurses had put in for the returning soldiers filled with flowers and flags; "Chinatsu!" Kano smiled, "What brings you here…?"

The older woman half-smiled. She had let her light blonde hair go gray. "My treatments, Keiko."

Keiko looked at her strangely, and Hina explained, "I didn't want to tell you until all this was over."

"Tell me…what…?"

"I have cancer…The incurable kind. I found out almost two years ago now. I have about five months, left."

Keiko stared in shock before her old friend; "Oh…Hina…"

The woman smiled, "I'll live to see the birth of my last grandchild. They're having another boy."

"…Are they?"

She nodded. "They'll name him Ibiki," Chinatsu said. "Morino Ibiki."

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She received a knock on the door the next afternoon, and since her husband was still being hauntingly restless in the front bedroom, she answered it and found a young Konoha chuunin with a small cardboard box of her husband's things: Dalzen's diary, Sakumo's tattered headband; no sooner she said 'thank you' than the ninja vanished and left.

She was about to close the door when she nearly dropped the box out of surprise at Sakumo, who came to the door, and held it open, "Is he gone?"

"Yes—here are your things…"

But Sakumo wasn't paying attention, and he walked out on the front porch as if he were seeing something unnerving in the distance. "Sakumo, it's all right—he's gone—" He shut the door on her suddenly, and something did not strike her right—"Sakumo…! What are you—?"

"Keep quiet," he instructed. "Just keep quiet."

"What the…Sakumo, it's fine—He was a Konoha ninja, now he's gone—" she said, unsure of what set him off.

"Stay inside, just _stay_ inside."

Quickly concluding his behaviour was worse today than it was yesterday, the day he got home, she set the box down and tried opening the front door, but he had set something in front of it—she could not get it to budge. She cantered for the backdoor, but he got there first, and she pushed on the door in vain. She ran back to the front, and tried looking out all the windows in the house—no one was there at all. But when she looked out the window in the middle bedroom, she blinked when she saw two men dressed in black, and there was her husband, running toward them. "No…" she said and looked again, disbelieving her eyes. She wasn't keen on that figure of seventy percent, not based on what she'd seen of him so far. Yoshiko could not see the men's headbands, if they wore any, but at least one man's ninjutsu looked to be wind. Quickly, she summoned the red hunter herself, and followed the fight into his old bedroom's two windows—they were fighting in the eastern paddock, but she couldn't see through the sudden flashes of white light. Instantly she began opening the south window on the side, where she might have some cover from the angle of the house. Her and the dog dropped out, and instantly the dog ran to his master: Sakumo was suddenly hurled backward into Zosha's old open-stall shed, and it collapsed over him. "No!" she uttered—small black winged creatures came flying out of the cloud of dust and rubble—she could see three ninja now, all closing in on him.

She ran to them.

Sakumo was still not moving where he was—the dog was trying to rouse him amidst the ruble; and though her instinct was defensive, she knew her best chance was an offense strike, to get them out of the spot they were converging on. She succeeded somewhat, and the enemy ninja, believing she would revert to defense (which she did with an earth wall) all three threw a barrage and medley of wind jutsu and kunai, all of which her defense took; mostly. Sakumo was finally upright twelve yards behind her, and with an enemy kunai he picked up, went at them directly, steering each of them away from her. He too, succeeded somewhat, though not achieving the distance he wanted. The mahogany red dog came up behind her and said quietly, "He's going to do a wide-field genjutsu. Brace yourself."

Just as soon as she looked out, Sakumo initiated it, and it was so powerful, she too fell under it—she woke up a moment later from the nudge of the red dog's nose. Together the two ran for Sakumo, collapsed near the east end of the fence.

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"Are you all right?"

"Yes, hokage-sama," she said. Her wounds were totally superficial. "But I fear my—Sakumo, isn't well."

"Well," he took a seat next to her, "I just wanted to tell you the men were all from sand, and they are secure now in our custody."

"Thank you," Her skin pricked and quivered for a second in a breeze of cold she felt. She was going to ask him why they targeted Sakumo, but she figured that was a dumb question, considering. But still, she thought, the men must have tracked him—maybe by way of the carrier, on accident. What made matters worse was that if only they lived _inside_ the village, they could be protected from an event like this. Instead, Sakumo's home was completely unguarded. She sighed—Korado seemed to imitate her on the other chair on her left, lolling.

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"How is he?" Keiko asked her that night. Since Tsunade was also still gone, Keiko had personally overseen Sakumo. She was now asking over the way he'd handled himself since he returned home.

"Well, now of course he's worse than before," she put her head in her hands miserably. Her mother-in-law took a seat next to her. Korado still had not moved from the chair on her left. "He's absolutely convinced he must go back out there," Yoshiko said. "He told me to move back in the village. He said the war isn't over, and he tried telling me it was just a cease-fire, and that…he should be back in the west by now. And I…I asked him how long he would stay if he could, and he couldn't answer…but say…as long as it would take…" A few sorry tears welled in her eyes, "There's no getting through to him now, I don't even know how to talk to him anymore. I knew it…would not be easy, but…You've known him longer than I have…I don't know what to do."

"Keep talking to him," Keiko answered. "No matter…how futile it seems, he needs you right now. No matter how stubborn he gets, keep after him. Make him realize he's not on his own. I think…that was the trouble with his father. He was so strong willed…You had to bend him, to break him. So stubborn," she reminisced. "…Never let him go down this path. He'll only end up hurting himself. Give it time."

The next day, they released him, but once again, they were forced to sedate him in order to get him home. He was talking about returning to Kusa, and he'd fight the men who'd stood in his way.

She waited two hours, by herself, and then it was her time, trying to convince him to stay. It seemed he couldn't quite grasp the idea of he could do nothing all day, but when he glanced out the window and saw what had been done to Zosha's old stall, he cringed. He ended up busying himself, and began a slow task of repairing it, even slower with his new injuries. She watched him closely, now and then, while she fixed dinner.

The first day in January, eleven days later, he had calmed down significantly. Even the state of their marriage felt a little more toward normal again, after the strain it built when he was away, and when he came home. He worked out longer, each day in the garden for something to do, but yet he would not give up the minute now and then he would close his eyes to scan for another enemy on the loose. The house had not suffered an attack since, but he lived with the constant suspicion it would happen again, and soon. He was close to finishing the new shed in the paddock, though the only tenants to continue using it would be the family of bats that were forced to temporarily relocate to the forest. He had often wondered if the time might come he could buy a horse and keep it there, but his shinobi duties were always taking precedence. The next time he shipped out, his wife would only be left to take care of it. She had already attended far too much for his sake already. She'd kept the garden going by herself for four years, and now she quit her job at the hospital to take care of him, and all his crazy problems. He still had no idea how he could ever make it up to her. He would never be a better husband if he couldn't make her happy. He could hardly remember how.

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They were two orphaned, unrelated boys, bold Yahiko, reserved Nagato, and an orphaned girl with a talent for paper-folding, Konan.

The three had been living (or surviving, a more adequate word) in the darkness and squalor during the war. Sadistic Orochimaru had suggested they should be forever put out of their misery, but Jiraiya refused to accept that end for them, and eventually, he decided to teach them ninjutsu to defend themselves, and more importantly, the skills to survive, and the strong compassionate bond that could forever unite them as a team. Yahiko reminded him of himself; bold and brave, but incandescently charming (when he could be), and young Konan was nothing like Tsunade—she had no attitude, but a caring, chatty nature, a willingness to defend herself, with an innate, untapped talent to show for it. But little Nagato was still wary of the ninja yet. Looking like a red-headed sheep dog on a random Kusa plain, he was enormously afraid of getting hurt again by the world—he talked to no one but his two friends, and kept to himself with a strong, almost unbreakable reserve. But Jiraiya was most intrigued by him, as the young boy's name reminded him of an old story his brother once told to him, about a shepherd in the mountains, one mountain in particular, as tall as the Heavens…

Jiraiya himself wasn't sure how long a time he'd spend with them, but the four began to develop a close and reliable bond, and Jiraiya suddenly admired what his own sensei had persevered through, to teach him the same skills and lessons Jiraiya was bestowing upon the rain country youth, who were more than willing to devote themselves to the concepts. The three already had a close bond with each other, something Jiraiya felt he still did not have with Orochimaru, or Tsunade. _Indeed, _Jiraiya thought, they were three unique and special children.

He finally wrote to his mother that night, with short news of his progress.

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The next day, she took a break and went outside while the peach cobbler was busy baking. Since Sakumo was gone, and the threats of horrific dismemberment towards the tree were hence void, the peach tree did poorly the previous years. She returned the talk just last season, in hopes it might recover, telling it that Sakumo would come back to cut it down, and apparently it took the word to heart and produced twelve fine round things it had pride enough to call peaches. She wondered sometimes if that old tree was really sentient. The same went for the apple trees. She looked on the left side of the backyard on the porch swing and smiled to herself, Sakumo was out there with a shovel, turning over the soil for a new row of gladiolas, something his own mother had added in years and years ago. It was towards the front, near the crazy red rhubarb, where Yoshiko had told him she would like to put in a row of sunflowers on the south side. After all, nothing ever planted near it stunted it's growth, it was as unruly now as it was when his father first put it in, and healthy, too. The stuff had come from Takeshi's land. And it was seldom, the years, it did not perform well, it was always vigorous and strong, tested only by inclement weather and the threat of disease.

He joined her about ten minutes later, on the old porch swing, where he leaned back and breathed deeply the open fresh air, instead of the dry arid desert he'd so come to know. His mind wandered again to the medical house on the east side, wondering about the men he left behind. She reached out and held his right hand—she turned it over and saw the red blisters across the top of his palm and on his fingers. The line of her mouth was even, as she could see how hard he was working. His hands weren't bleeding yet, but she wondered how soon they might be in his efforts. Sakumo looked up and turned his head in both directions—she knew, after a second, what he was doing. "Anyone nearby?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "No."

The line of her mouth shifted again uneasily; she had something specific she needed to ask him—and tell him. What troubled her was that they were one in the same, and she did not know if he would react true to what he said in his last letter from the battlefield. Their expectations of coming home had not been fulfilled to the best of their imaginations it seemed, so she didn't know if this matter too, was laid out in the shade or not. "Sakumo," she said hesitantly, "Can I ask you something?"

"Look…I know it probably bothers you, but I have to do it. I have to keep you safe."

"No, no, it's not that, it's about something else," she said. He looked at her curiously, and she lowered her head; "Please—tell me it matters to you, that you still want a family," she said earnestly.

He was surprised, a little, and he stuttered. In truth, he hadn't given any thought to it whatsoever. He came to think of his shinobi duties, and like that horse he could never buy, she'd be left to take care of the child when he was gone for whatever period of time—what was the gain?

"Because…" she continued slowly without his input, "I'm pregnant."

"…What?" He exclaimed, straightening in the swing, "But—You can't be sure—?"

She smiled. "Not yet, but I hope."

"Wh—Are you sure?" he asked again incredulously.

He made her laugh shortly and she nearly flushed with a faint rose of color in her cheeks. "Well? Do you still want a family?"

She turned him speechless; his mouth moved on every word possible, but he could utter none of them. And glancing at him again, she smiled, and looking down at his hand and her own, she felt it was warm.

He looked away, running the concept over in his mind, for and against; "Are we ready for a child?"

She looked up at him, "If not now, Sakumo, when was it going to be? I'm as ready as I will be—and I wasn't going to wait forever," she explained. "I thought, after the war…"

"I had thought after the war, too, but…" he looked down at the rails, "_Now_…"

"…Are you busy?" she smiled.

"No, but…What if…I'm gone again? And you're left to raise it? And what if—?"

"We could spend the next two generations thinking about all these things. But a woman can't give birth after menopause, I'm sorry," she grinned at herself.

She made him smile. "Yeah, I suppose you're right—but, a child…" he mused—"A child, in this house…"

"I could be carrying two, you know."

"Oh I highly doubt that," he said quickly, and she laughed.

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Six long weeks later, the happy couple were sitting with Kosaka and his wife, having been invited to lunch at the old man's house, and he was an old man as he admitted, seventy-one years of age, but said still he was out working every day, talking of his newest scars, and asking if Sakumo's had healed yet, and that was mostly all spoken on the subject. Kosaka was long past prying on the war's hellish account (he remembered the first one well enough), and he went into detail that Curtis was still among the living ("a total miracle he lived this far…") and that the old man had taken up the trouble of getting the reports on every victory the Shiroi Kiba and the allied forces made. "He talked very inspiring about it," Kosaka recalled. "Quite proud of you, I think. And he even mentioned once or twice you were the son of their 'own Hatake crazed Coushander'," Kosaka smiled, "In his words. Didn't say anything else about him, of course. That's just how Curtis is…" he mused. "Been there a lot longer than I have, that's for sure. Just turned ninety last December. Still sharp as a tack. A little slow in the body though."

"Ninety?" said Sakumo, surprised.

Kosaka nodded, "Yep, God, I hope I can live that long," Kosaka smiled. "Said he can still remember clear as day hearing about the treaty being signed between the two clans. Broadcasted it over the radio."

"That's something," Sakumo remarked.

"History like that's never going to happen twice. Well. I suppose it could, but it hasn't yet, which is nice. Where else would we hold the meetings…"

"Is it still every Thursday?"

He nodded, and his wife added with a sly smile, "He's out the door before seven o'clock. Sometimes I think that place should serve free dinners, too."

"They did try something like that over twenty years ago. Only problem was, the wives cooked all the food anyway, so what was the point? It was a pretty big bother—think it only lasted one try…"

The conversation turned to more field work as Sakumo asked after it, interested in how all the man's crops, and how they were doing, which was a hearty and lengthy discussion, where the vices engaged each other a bit, though Yoshiko was as interested as Sakumo, since she had looked after their own land for so long on her own.

But eventually, when the conversation wound down, she looked at her husband and said, "Well, do you want to tell them our news?"

"Me?" he uttered in such a way as if she'd asked him to build a boat.

"News?"

"Oh!" Misao exclaimed, having a sudden premonition typical of only women of her age and wisdom, "Oh can I guess?"

"Well, sure," said Sakumo, relieved of the chance he had to say anything on the matter.

"Are you two going to have a child?"

The couple grinned.

"Oh, I knew it!"

"What?" said Kosaka dumbly.

"It's true," Yoshiko said, "And you're the first ones to know."

"Oh, yes, and please, don't tell anybody," added Sakumo. "I don't need anymore attention…" He rested a hand on her knee, "_We_ don't anyway," he smiled.

"What? Tell everybody? Of course we will," Kosaka teased them. "All the guys will know next Thursday, count on it. Oh won't Curtis be thrilled."

"Oh, I think that's just wonderful news," Misao said, smiling, "I'm so happy for you—when is it due?"

"October fifth," Yoshiko answered.

"Oh, the first week in October…! That's always a busy harvest week, isn't it?"

Kosaka was grinning. "Well well…" he thought. "That is good news."

"Do you both want a big family?"

The two exchanged glances. And finally, Yoshiko answered, "…A few, hopefully. But, I really want to get through the one, first," she smiled.

"Hm," Kosaka grinned, musing upon the idea of Coushander's first grandchild.

.

The couple left, and they went back through the village on the east side—Sakumo stopped instantly as he saw several memorials taking place in the new fields, and the land, on the north side, was all being converted to fields with headstones.

She was able to lead him on, after a while, and the two went on to Keiko's, where their news was coyly mentioned again, and met with equal joy and gladness.

The two came back around the south side of the village late in the afternoon, crossing over the little bridge, and passing by her old, recently vacated and sold home of her mother's, who had passed on two years ago. At first, she had not told Sakumo, but she sent him a letter, when he was still in the west. The only family she had left were back in Nobu, in her father's old town, and she hadn't seen any of them in years. "It's hard to believe things have changed this much," he commented with deep solemnity. For one, many of men he knew had gone, and served their best in the war, and two, no armies were hurling kunai, shuriken, and jutsu at him on a daily basis anymore. Village life, dare he say it, seemed almost normal and complacent.

She nodded, holding his arm as the two walked down the Woodland Lane. She smiled, "They'll only get crazier though, with a baby."

"How many did you want to have?" he asked her seriously.

She smiled nervously, "One, first," she leaned her head on his arm.

"Yeah, but then what?" his curious smile turned crooked.

"Then…We'll take care of him for a year or two, and _then_ think abut it."

He liked the idea, and then he glanced at her stomach. "What profession do you think he'll take to?"

"He? It could be a she."

"I suppose those are the only two choices."

Yoshiko laughed. "People have supposed it, yes," she grinned. "Don't you think you'll be a good father? I think you will be the greatest," she said dreamily, with a happy imagine in her mind.

He wasn't sure exactly how she could have such confidence in him like that. "I hope I'll be all right. I'll need some help," he looked at her.

"You'll do fine. I know you will," Yoshiko smiled. "But I just need you to be there, from time to time."

For once, he couldn't tell if her tone was light or implying, and he cringed, that was what was bothering him enormously. He sighed, "I'll try. I will try. Honestly," he said quietly, "I don't know how you can still put up with me after all this time that's gone by."

"Well you've been home almost two months now. Doesn't it feel…the slightest bit normal?"

He shook his head. "I feel lost," he summed up rather adequately in his mind.

"Metaphorically speaking…I assume…"

He nodded.

"Oh good," she smiled faintly to herself.

Sakumo did not elaborate further; the meaning was accessible.

.

His lost turned into found when Sarutobi came by to their home exactly a week later. He met with Sakumo only, since Yoshiko was still locked away in the bathroom. "It started a couple days ago," Sakumo explained, and he knew Hizuren had the experience to understand. "I hate to go out in the field in case she might need me," He glanced at Hizuren. "Well I know you didn't come by to chat about all this—What's up?"

"I did too," he said sternly, but with a kind smile. "I just wanted to see how you two were."

"But? I can tell you're hiding something," Sakumo said pointedly. "Do you have a crisis?"

"Personally? No."

"Let me guess…" Sakumo closed his eyes; "Tsuchi wants something…"

Sarutobi blinked, "Why'd you pick tsuchi?"

"Hizuren, I didn't come back and forget about it. Radio is a really wonderful invention. I couldn't leave the situation be. And too, I figure they must have some reserve of shinobi left… What is it they're doing, exactly? Please, tell me."

"Sakumo, you deserve the chance to be home, now, so forget—"

"Prevent what you need me to prevent. I'll do it. Just tell me when and where. I've been waiting for this Hizuren, I really have. Ever since it ended, I've been waiting for the chance to say it won't happen again. If you're thinking of sending _anybody_, send me. There. Now, that wasn't so hard…was it?"

And even though he told the hokage he was willing, he wasn't, however, ready to break the news to his morning-sick wife, until that night……

.

"Oh—Sakumo, before you go—would you do something for me?" she asked hesitantly.

"Anything," he said.

"Would you…find Jiraiya, and give him this?"

"Of course," he smiled, and took the letter from her.

"You're the only one that could sense him—and you're the only one I could trust…" Kano smiled, "Thank you."

He glanced down at the note addressed to his brother, "I'll find him," Sakumo said, thinking it was about time for that too.

.

A month into his mission scheduled for a couple to three weeks, he was able to stop over in Rain, before heading north, back into Kusa. He left his team, and scanned across the south end, moving at a quick pace to cover the most ground. After nearly an hour into his search, with dusk approaching over the cloudy gray horizon, he found an energy level large enough to be his brother, except, it was far larger than he remembered. Concealing himself on the side of the little house, he looked in through the window and saw his brother and a young girl, peeling potatoes, with carrots and celery still undiced on the counter—Sakumo smiled; it was just as Orochimaru had told him. Jiraiya had accepted those children, and was seeing they were looked after. Sakumo tapped on the glass, hid himself, and waited.

Jiraiya walked out, and with a kunai behind his back, he walked around to the back and saw the shadow move—Jiraiya threw the kunai and Sakumo narrowly dodged it, "Hey! Watch where you aim that knife!"

Jiraiya advanced, and Sakumo stepped into the light—Jiraiya's eyes widened: "Sakumo!" He ran toward his niisan and hugged him.

"God, I can't believe how tall you are…!" Sakumo said when they parted.

"Sakumo! I can't believe it! How are you? Why are you here? How did you find me? What are you doing here?"

"Um—fine, fine, and fine—Will you introduce me?"

"Huh?"

Sakumo nodded behind him, and Jiraiya finally realized the girl had followed him out. "Oh! Yes! Konan! This is—Sakumo!"

"My name is Sakumotsu, actually," he smiled. "Pleased to meet you."

She nodded hesitantly, but she smiled.

"Yes. Wow! What a surprise!" Jiraiya continued ecstatically, "I haven't seen you…"

"Since you left, you big brat," Sakumo filled in and teased. "On your trek across the world, before it all exploded with turmoil, you know, _that_ trek."

Jiraiya smiled consciously, "Sorry, that reminds me, I had something for you…but it sorta came in handy, so I used it…" He pulled out a brown-handled jackknife from his pocket.

"Keep it," his brother smiled. "I still keep mine with me."

"Um, sensei…" Konan stepped forward.

Jiraiya turned and saw in the distance to where she pointed, the two boys were returning with two buckets of fish, presumably. "Would you stay?" Jiraiya turned and asked, "For dinner? Please? I won't take 'no' for an answer, there's so much we need to catch up on."

"Well…"

"Oh, and since you are staying, could you take off your headband?"

"Are you forming your own hidden village?" Sakumo ginned, untying the back of the cloth.

"Funny. No. It'll just fog up over the stew."

Sensing another reason in him, Sakumo instead tied it so it laid around his neck, with the metal part behind him. "Konan," Jiraiya turned behind him, "Would you set the table?"

"Sure!" she hopped inside and busied herself with the tasked.

"Welcome to our home!" Jiraiya announced.

"Not exactly in a tree now, is it," observed Sakumo.

"Oh yeah! That reminds me! Mine needs some work—expansion," he corrected, "back home," Jiraiya said, and finished preparing the potatoes. Sakumo helped him with the other stuff on the counter.

"Expansion?" he said. "Yeah, I can definitely see why," Sakumo eyed his figure again incredulously, "How can you still _fit_ in there?"

"Hey! I can still fit…!" Jiraiya grinned.

Two boys came in after taking off their waders—and the two set down the buckets with fish—only Yahiko's contained two small carp. "Ha ha," Konan giggled. There were six large fish in Nagato's pail. "Nagato, you won!" she smiled.

"Sensei," Yahiko looked on suspiciously, "Who's this?"

"He's staying for dinner," Jiraiya smiled.

"Hatake Sakumotsu," his brother nodded. "At your service."

"Saku-_motsu?"_ Yahiko cocked his head, "Are you related to _Sakumo?"_

"You've heard of me," he was genuinely surprised.

"Shiroi Kiba, right?"

"Yahiko, you and Nagato go wash up, all right?" Jiraiya said.

"Sensei, how do you know a guy like him? You're not important enough to…"

"…Are you?" Konan finished after a brief weighty moment of silence.

The two Konoha ninja exchanged glances, until Sakumo spoke first, "I've known Jiraiya since he was an infant."

"Sakumo!" Jiraiya exclaimed.

"It's true," he grinned. "We go way back."

"Run along!" Jiraiya ushered, waving the dull paring knife. "We'll have lots of conversation later, run along!"

Sakumo looked after them as they ran to the washroom in back. "Quite a trio. Nagato—is that name like Naga, of the mountains?"

"It might be. Rain born though. Never heard of the story."

"You told him?" Sakumo dumped the rings of carrots and celery into the big pot on the stove. "What else are you teaching them?"

"Basic chakra control."

"Oh?"

Jiraiya nodded. "Konan and Nagato are taking to it first, real quick…."

The three came bounding back, and the five, eventually, sat down to dinner.

.

"There was one last thing I wanted to tell you, and give you," he said, turning the metal plate around. Sakumo reached into his pocket and gave Jiraiya his long letter from home. "This is from your mother. She misses you very much, Jii."

"Oh—tell her I'm sorry—I'll write her again soon, I promise."

The night air in Rain was quite cool and humid, as always; Sakumo smiled, "Jiraiya, I have some news…" he continued after a moment, "My wife is pregnant; we're going to have a child."

"…What! Really...? Oh my gosh! That's so great!" Jiraiya grinned, and said, "You'll be a father! And, hey! _I'll_ be an _uncle!"_ he said with excitement.

Sakumo smiled. "Just come back to us first, all right? And see your little…whatever. I don't know if it will be boy, or girl."

"Yeah, yeah, I will," Jiraiya smiled. "All in good time—I bet…" he said after a moment, "I bet it will be a girl. But you should have a boy, too. And then twins, a boy, and a girl."

"Oh really?" Sakumo smiled as his brother was telling fate what to do.

"Well? What do _you_ want?"

He shrugged loosely: "Whatever comes out…I don't mind…" His younger brother punched him playfully on the shoulder, "Aw what answer is that," Jiraiya waved, "That's so pathetic. You want a big family, don't you?"

"I don't know," Sakumo said with seriousness coming back into his voice, remembering he shouldn't have even been out this long…

"Oh," Slowly, the tone seeped into Jiraiya, too.

"Well, then—" Sakumo looked up, "Thanks for the dinner. I miss talking to you."

"Yeah, hey, take care."

"I will. Same goes for you. Watch yourself while you're down here."

"Yeah—Thanks, for everything," Jiraiya said. "And good luck—with the baby," he smiled.

Sakumo nodded, smiling faintly, and went.

.

About a month later, he finally came home (intact and without much hysteria) and he was received with open arms, and a reluctant, uncommunicative wife. Good for him, he half-expected it. He did not know yet how deep a grudge she bore. He'd written to her often, but he knew even that wouldn't have been enough. She smiled, when she told him what gender their child was, but beyond that, she didn't want to return his embrace, and she never answered him when he asked if she had gotten any odd cravings yet.

"Where are you going?" he asked her the next morning, standing on the back porch.

"Town," she said smiling, collecting her purse. "For some flour."

"May I go with you?"

"No—" she caught herself and tried to smile, "I'm used to going by myself," she answered calmly.

"You don't want my company?" he pinned her gaze with a brief, and hopeless smile.

"It's not that," she said.

"I think it is," he interjected. "You haven't asked me one question about my mission, and that's fine. I couldn't speak a word of it anyway. But please, please don't be angry with me. I know you are. I know…I was a bastard to be out for that long, I'm sorry. Please."

She bit her lip, chewing over a thousand different lines in her head to throw at him after the bitter sentiment, but her logic prevailed her, all but how begrudgingly it was said, "Look, I know you had to do…whatever you did, but try not to forget October fifth, would you?" It wasn't a question, and she turned away from him, but he caught her sleeve.

"I'm not going to forget," he told her. "I _will_ be _there—"_

"I know who I married, all right?" she suddenly burst; uncharacteristic of her, "I married the job!" she spun around quickly and went down the steps, and trotted out the back door.

"Yoshiko—"

He watched her leave, and down the path on the right side that led to Kujira, and he did not know if he should stop her.

He watched her go all the way out of sight.

.

On a Sunday night in May, the younger Keiko, daughter of Ichida Takato, scurried in, dragging her husband behind. "It's tonight, I know it!" she repeated between a respite in her contractions. Teal groaned, only because she had said the very same thing four days ago.

But this time, it was true; the baby was born at ten-thirty one, May twentieth. And he was going to look just like his granddad Chinatsu said when she saw him the next morning, for he had some wispy thin black hair on his head. An interesting sight, too, since both parents were fair-haired. But the child's face was much like Teal's; there was no mistaking he was Morino, through and through.

The following month, however, they lost little Ibiki's grandmother. Chinatsu passed on, on the twelfth of June, and everyone came to the funeral on Friday for the service. The whole family was there, Teal and Keiko with all their children (just four now, three boys and a young girl) and Hoshi made it there, recently returned from the north, she said. She was a good-ranking chuunin, with a lot of her father in her as she stayed out for long periods of time with a small cell who were usually commissioned down south.

After the service, Sakumo stood with his wife near the grave of his sensei. He knelt down and read the words over, and nearly scanned past the final inscription; _Nosce te ipsum._ Know thyself.

As Sakumo thought about all the choices he made in his life, it clicked for a moment, Dalzen had memorized that phrase for a damn good reason. There was a reason for everything his sensei had done in his life, and that was because he did it because he knew who he was. A shinobi, first, of hidden leaf, of the land of fire. And Sakumo suddenly realized, in sight of that gray headstone—Dalzen's gravestone, Sakumo had made the wrong decision. He felt aware of a cold weight resting on his shoulders of the burden he carried of that deep, undying regret. He had looked at the same words once before with Keiko-san by his side, and confused honor with duty; want, with responsibility, and not that of his own desire—to quit, and to uphold what his father had fought so long and hard to build. The dream had gone unfinished in Sakumo's mind, ever since he watched with painful eyes the field lay dormant, immediately after his father's death. He'd tried to balance both—but the war had completely torn him away from it now. For four years, that field had not seen the plow. Sakumo hung his head, mulling over his regret.

"…Sakumo?" his wife suddenly said gently.

Upon her voice above him, he stood slowly, and continued to stare at the grey inscription, thinking.

Hesitantly, she reached out and held his hand. He turned his head and looked at her earnestly. "I'll quit," he said, taking her hand inside his.

"What……do you mean…?"

"I'll quit," he said again, and loosened into a short smile. "After our child is born, I will resign my commission, and leave. I swear it. I won't do this anymore."

"Do…_what_…?" she stared at him in sudden confusion.

"Being ninja. I will resign, Yoshiko. I'll leave the village, and start again. With you."

"But…" she was caught between a small unbelieving smile and her bewilderment; "But…would they _let_ you? You're too important—Oh Sakumo, don't do it for me, you're too important to them—"

"I don't care. They'll get on without me. My time is done. I should have done it long before I ever met you. You know how much my father's land means to me. Part of what I fought for was the chance to live free, and if they can't grant me that, then I was fighting in vain. I'm sure…Hizuren, will be surprised," Sakumo smiled, "But I know he will accept it. He will have to. I will leave all of this, and stay home to work, just as I was meant to, a long time ago. It's what I wanted."

"You'll…_quit_…?" she worded, shocked.

"Yes," he nodded, smiling, "Don't try and convince me otherwise. If I don't do it now, I'll never do it, and keep regretting it. I don't want to have to regret it my whole life. There's a chance now, with this war over. I'll take it. Would that…make you happy? You'd have to live with me all _day_…"

She grinned and hugged him tightly, to let him know.

.

"…What…" he stared blankly, as if his top jounin was suddenly speaking a foreign language he picked up on the southwest end of tsuchi. Sarutobi shook his head in case his hearing might further degrade and all he would hear would be a child's babbling. He would be hearing enough of such talk again…: "What…?" he asked again, hearing his own voice speak the language clearly.

"Hizuren, I never told you, but a long time ago, when I was eighteen, I was in the mission to the Azurano—in the neutral zone."

"Yes—yes, ok, I remember that," the hokage inserted, with him so far.

"It was right after Dalzen died. I was really…mixed up, after losing him. I didn't know what to do, and worse, I didn't know what I should do, as far as how I wanted to live my life. I was lost. I had the chance," Sakumo looked down, "After that mission, to quit. It was the best chance I ever had, and I didn't take it. I was so wrapped up in my grief, I felt like I would have dishonored Dalzen by quitting. But in reality, I failed…his greatest teaching," Sakumo smiled. "I have regretted that decision most of my life. All I wanted was to go back home, and carry on my father's work. I always had an instinct, I was never _meant_ to be shinobi. So. You see, I have the same chance now, with the war over, and I'm going to take it, and start anew, with a family. So, I'm asking you now, if there's anything else you need me to do, now is the time I will do it."

Sarutobi was speechless, which was an incredibly rare event.

"What I tell you is the honest truth," Sakumo inserted. "I've just had it eating away at me for sixteen years or so. A long time, I know."

"But…" Sarutobi considered his words. "To live your life…like this…_Why_? It's not like you," Hizuren observed incredulously; the jounin's face was even and genuine, and still, he furrowed his brow. "I have never known you like this."

"As I said, you wouldn't have, I never told you. What kept me going was duty. I was appalled, men should have to die as they did," Oikawa came to mind. "I wanted to do something about it, and I wanted to be of use. And besides, power like mine should be put so, when it's needed. That was my reason. But now…I just know I have that chance again."

"You mean…you'll resign…just like that?" When Sakumo nodded, Sarutobi flinched, "But _resign?_ And be _discharged?_ Surely—I could make it so you had all the time off, you've earned it, but you'd still be on in case—"

"I have thought of this too. If there ever is another war, I'll come back. I have talked it over with my wife. I'm too powerful not to, I know that. I will defend Konoha as I always have, but as a citizen, and nothing else."

"What—"

"No no. Get me discharged _completely_. I don't care what it stirs. That's one of the reasons we fought that damn war," Sakumo explained. "If you can't let me go and lead my own life; carve out just the slightest bit of contentment for myself, then I have to ask you and all the men on the council, just what in the hell were we fighting for. This is my chance, Hizuren," Sakumo repeated. "Please," he said with great respect and honesty, "Let me go."

It was agreed, effective October fifth, he would no longer be a Konohagakure ninja.

.

_Dear Sakumo & Yoshiko, hope you are both very well (and the little one too!). Recently, I've had some inspiration for possible baby names, hope you could consider one of them! I really thought you'd have a girl, but my mom says it's a boy, so, here they are: Kakashi, Kuwa, Kama, Botan, or Enoki. Personally, I like Kuwa—you could do Kuwaki or Kuwato or something like that. Anyway, just thought I'd throw my two cents in (although it disappeared and went to the stamp…). Wet and rainy here in Rain. As usual. I'll write again soon when the weather perks up (it can, from time to time). Love, Jiraiya._

"Those are ridiculous," she said. "I told you, I still want Naoya, Naoto, or Kouhei."

"I don't know…" Sakumo grinned, looking at the letter. "…I kinda like Kakashi."

"Kakashi? No one would take our child seriously!"

"But it's…" Sakumo searched for the word, "…Authentic!"

She laughed, "Um…well…there's still time…Naoya," she muttered. As the primary choice of name she'd chosen.

"Kakashi," Sakumo said right back, liking the name every time he pronounced it.

.

September fourteenth, a Friday, Sakumo left and began his last mission. The next day, however, his wife went into labor, with only Kano by her side. Keiko took the opportunity though to summon one of her dogs and sent him off in pursuit of Sakumo. "Hairo is the fastest runner," she assured the Shiroi Kiba's wife, "Sakumo will come back in no time."

But, he did not. After entering in there at two-thirty, at eight-oh-one, their baby boy was born, and Sakumo missed it, arriving there out of breath at nine-thirty to find his newborn healthy, and his wife worse for wear. "I am so sorry," he said, sitting on the bed with her.

At first, she wanted to hit him hard as she could, but she had not the strength nor the patience to raise her arm and try. "You couldn't have known," she eventually said.

"Well," he said, untying his hitai-ate, and held it in his hand, "I'm done."

"What about…your mission…?" she blinked at him, in surprise.

"I think Hairo is standing in for me. It'll have to do," he smiled. "Now, please try and sleep. I'll be right here, when you wake up. I promise."

"You better, mister," she said shortly.

He suddenly thought—"Oh no, what did you name him?" he cringed in anticipation, watching her smile weakly, but ever so crookedly.

"What do you think," she said quietly. "He's _your_ son, Kakashi. But _I'm_ naming the next one," she looked up at him firmly.

"Agreed," he grinned. "The next one, we'll have a little girl, just like you."

"Oh shut up," she moaned, still half-smiling. She'd already decided, if they ever had a girl, Yoshiko would name her Hoseki, in honor of all Keiko-san had done for them both.

.

Tsunade delivered the letter to him, but on account of her team's business in Rain, she declined the offer to stay to dinner. But, she did chat with him for a few minutes, bugging him after when he would come home. "Hasn't it been long enough?" she pursued him. "You'll have been a whole year them this month."

"You know how it is, with students," Jiraiya smiled, looking a bit self important.

"Well. Much is changing back home, I think that letter will explain it."

"Explain what?"

"Jiraiya…Sakumo has quit."

"…Quit? Quit what? I told him while he was here, he should stop playing dodge ball behind enemy lines."

"You oaf," she said seriously, "He's been discharged, completely. He's no longer a ninja, by his own accord. Your mother said the papers came in on the fifth. He's not going to be with Konohagakure anymore."

Jiraiya was as speechless as his sensei had been; "What?" he uttered finally, "Why?"

"I'm sure your mother explains…somewhat. I don't get it myself," Tsunade said. "Everyone's been speculating. Nobody knows."

"But, he was_ officially_ discharged? What did sensei say? He must have handled it?"

Tsunade swallowed, "Well he told Orochi and I that…Sakumo...his…dream…was different to the path his life took, and, that…he's...taken a chance to do otherwise," she said just as confused as she looked.

"But…wow…really…?" Jiraiya exclaimed, looking down at the letter from his mother.

"I know, that's what we all said."

"I can't believe it…and yet…I do…"

She looked up at him.

"Sakumo has always worked his father's land. But I just never thought…Now…" Jiraiya smiled faintly in bewilderment. "I guess…he wasn't kidding…"

"…How do you know?" Tsunade looked at him with suspicion.

"He told me once…not too long ago, he would. He'd quit for the chance to work his father's land—but he made it sound like it'd happen when the five kage made peace…" Jiraiya smiled, "I guess…he didn't want to wait."

"Seems that way," Tsunade admitted.

"I can't believe, _now_…Although…I guess their son's been born."

Tsunade nodded curtly. "Spitting image, I'm told."

"Oh the baby spits? How interesting."

She struck his shoulder. "You idiot," she sneered.

"Hey, watch it," He brushed off his sleeve, pushing down a grin. "They decide on a name?"

"Read the letter, stupid. I'm not telling you _everything_. Your mom was there, I'm sure she has every detail. She was _there_…" Tsunade muttered as if she'd heard the story too many times.

"Probably—Oh, and hey, speaking of details, I need some for the novel I've been writing…Would you spin around for me, I need to know how an angel twirls."

She stared at him blankly.

"Please?"

She raised her arm to strike him again, but it lowered, slowly. "You are so …" she turned her head, "No."

"Just a little dance?"

Quickly, she spun and hit him hard on the head. He fell over on the ground and she asked him, "There, am I spinning now?"

"Mmph…almost…Your hips are shakin'."

She scoffed, "You dirty pervert," She kicked him hard on the knee and left, "See you."

"Ow…" he clutched his right knee. "Ow……Farewell!" He called, seeing her leave and thought to himself he still wanted her. Bad.

His students came back to find him in the disheveled state, and told them simply he fell over trying to clean out the drain pipe.

.

"Kakashi…" Sakumo smiled, looking in on the six month old.

"Oh, Sakumo, I thought you were outside already," his wife said, suddenly flashing a calm smile at him, "Those seeds don't plant themselves you know."

"Hey…that's not…entirely true…" They exchanged smiles and he walked in the middle bedroom where she was changing him, "While you're here, can you grab me a clean rag?" He nodded and fetched her one from the top drawer of the dresser. "Speaking of which, I've been thinking…" he said, and she dressed the little silver haired baby with a shirt and pants. "Oh?" she said, and finally when she finished, she lifted the child and held him in her arms.

"With all the stuff we get from the rhubarb," he followed her into the kitchen, "Why don't we clear out all the wheat I just planted, and re-propagate that, instead? Think about it! We could supply the entire nation with rhubarb!"

She began laughing. "That's silly," she set the baby in his high chair. "We already can't get anyone to buy it outside the farmer's markets! Besides! I'm not having you tear up that field you worked so hard on. If you dare so much as trod an inch over it, I'll…I'll scream."

He grinned and continued, "We could ship it to water country, and have little family crests on the packages, think of what Kakashi could _inherit."_

"The only thing he's going to inherit are those crazy ideas of yours. Just watch it, he'll be sensible," she said just as he began banging the little wood tabletop out of boredom and hunger.

"He's agreeing with me," Sakumo observed.

"He is not," she said. He'll throw food at you just the same as he will to me. He's not biased in the least, now get out there."

"Yes, ma'am," Sakumo saluted.

She rolled her eyes and sat opposite their child—Sakumo kissed the top of her head before he went out to work. The baby suddenly wailed, and Kakashi got a kiss, too.

.


	40. Severed Dreams

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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.

Chapter 40  
_**Severed Dreams**_

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.

Curtis cleared his throat uneasily as he stood at the rostrum and began with the news.

"Poor fellow," Kosaka muttered to his companion in the back. "Caught a cold," As a result, the man only spoke for fifteen minutes before his son took over.

Meanwhile, Yoshiko was with Keiko for the lonesome Thursday night, smiling from ear to ear with her little eight-month old, "I've never seen Sakumo this happy before," she said. "He's so content, being where he is. It's a joy to see."

Kano smiled. "The ninja world is still talking about it. He could have easily been hokage someday, but, like Dalzen…he was never the shut-in kind…"

Yoshiko tickled her child and the baby laughed, "Sometimes we wonder about Kakashi, if he'll take to the land, or the Academy. I caught him playing with his father's headband—I don't know how he got it down, it must have fallen off the dresser. We locked away all the weapons—well, most of them, in case something should happen again…" The baby fidgeted, and so she set him gently on the floor, where he crawled around aimlessly until the frayed strings from the rug caught his special attention. "I guess we're lucky nothing has…" she thought. "Sakumo is still a target. Especially now," her tone softened. "with a little boy. We were—or I was thinking the other day, how much he might face out there because of that—I get so crazy thinking about it—I wish he'd stay this way forever," she looked down at her child adoringly. "He's so innocent."

"They are at that age…I wish I still had Jiraiya when he was about eight. They grow up so fast. Of course, Rion never wanted any children—I took my chance when I had it…" she thought wistfully, thinking of her and Coushander, at the time.

"Where is Rion?"

"Oh he's been working with the graveyard crew, with the memorials. He's usually out Mondays and Thursdays. Tomorrow, he's taking me to an auction."

"An auction?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "He's taken me to four already. A hobby of his. He never really bids on anything, just goes for the sake of it. His father used to take him to the ones on the north side of town, and on the east coast."

"I can't say I've ever been to one."

Kano smiled, "We get there two hours early, so he can get a number, and then we stay for at least another two hours…it's fun," she laughed. "He almost tempted me into buying an old antique sewing machine a week ago. He's the perfect salesman," she grinned.

"Sakumo is _still_ joking about the rhubarb empire…"

"Is he?"

Yoshiko laughed, staring after her silver-haired son, the two were beginning to be so much alike.

"Coushander would give me ten pounds at a time," said Kano, "And every recipe card he had of what to make with it. You can't use it for much else. Not even the leaves, those have to be thrown out. He always wondered what to do with the stuff. He wanted to make fuel with it to power the generator, I think. After a while, he said, people just didn't buy it."

Yoshiko grinned; she knew the story.

.

"Thank God for this rain," he said as he came in that night, dripping wet.

She smiled, taking his old green vest for him, "Don't make too much noise, I just got him to sleep."

"How was he?"

"Very good at his grandma's. Didn't break anything."

"You went to…Keiko's? How is she?"

"Good; she's going to an auction tomorrow with Rion."

"Really…?" he walked in the dark middle bedroom next to theirs to see his young child asleep. Reluctantly, he followed her back into the larger bedroom. "How was the meeting?" his wife asked him, sitting back down with a book.

"Mm," he shrugged—"Oh, Curtis didn't look too well. Had a cold. He left after the first half-hour."

"That's too bad," she frowned.

"I talked to his son afterwards—said he's been sick off and on," Sakumo reached under his collar and took off his dog tag. "You know…" he turned, "I don't know why I still put this on."

"Habit," she smiled.

"Still…it's been eight months," He reached in his waistband and took out his jackknife, and laid that too on the bureau. "I keep thinking one day I'll wake up and not reach for it. Hasn't happened yet," Finally, he took off his wedding band and laid it by the pocketknife.

"…Taking a shower?" she asked.

"Yeah."

By the time he came back, thunder was rumbling in the sky. "A washout, eh?" he stared out the window in clean clothes. "Hope it doesn't wash the sprouts away. Damn."

She smiled. "We have no control over the mother nature, Sakumo, are you coming to bed?"

"I guess," he sighed, and closed the little curtains.

"I told Keiko tonight," she said as he sat down next to her, "That I've never seen you so happy than I have in the last eight months."

He thought for a moment, slightly surprised by her words. "…You mean I was a curmudgeon before all this?"

She laughed, "No, you know what I mean."

"I do. It's still hard though, leaving it to chance. At least that's what it feels like is happening. I know the men out there. They're good men."

"We leave the field to chance—what difference is that? No, I know, it's entirely different."

"I still get stopped on the street," he told her, "Like just tonight, I ran into Shin. Said he just came back from the south side to learn the news. I keep explaining to them over and over," he leaned back, "But it feels like they don't get it."

"Well when you were out there, you were so devoted to them. They may not have seen you as anything other than a general."

"I know. And I've got to transfer some of that devotion, still, to the fields, but like I said before, I'm never going to forget those men and what they can do. Especially not what I can do. I will never forget that war," he said, staring at the bedroom wall into Tsuchi's mountains or Suna's deserts.

"You're not expected to," she said quietly with solemnity.

"I know," he sighed again. "I know."

Another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

"I love you," he said.

She smiled and said it back before she turned over to sleep.

He laid there awake, and listened to it for the longest time, feeling Konoha rain plunking above him and the country's long-lost sounds of hometown fury.

Early the next morning he woke up to find the rain still falling gently from the sky, and so he set up the radio and turned it on low, and looked after the sight on the porch and listened to the morning team talk about it like he wasn't there. He rested his chin on his knuckles and stared at his short green grass, and then the garden on the left, partially hidden by the old fruit tress. He smiled, thinking about the overall game of chance he was playing that he'd talked about the night before.

His wife came out, some twenty minutes later, with baby food all over the top of her apron. "Did he eat anything?" Sakumo grinned at her.

"_Yours_ is ready," she simply said, returning a smile.

He clicked off the noise, and went inside.

.

She stood under the fabric of a white canvas tent, set up the day before in case of rain. And it was raining quite steady hard on the northwest end of town, she could hear the big drops plunk on the taut fabric above and roll off in waterfalls off of the sides, making shallow trenches around the rope and ties. The cord of her black umbrella was around her wrist; she dressed up a little on her day off—a black skirt and a grey sweater with a colorful small barrette in her black hair, which was tied back in a loose ponytail. She was taking her time looking at all the various assorted objects in and outside the brown cardboard boxes—everything from teacups to treasures and more. There were dolls and doll clothes, glass figurines of all kinds and sizes and dishes and home furnishings, candlesticks and holders, framed artwork, clothes, and a hundred more other objects of books and collectables. Rion had gotten his number already, and she could see him out the corner of her eye, looking closely at the furniture, and he bended over now and then, feigning interest so he might taunt her to come over to him, and she always did. She took hold of his arm and he smiled, still looking at a little end table with one engraved drawer, fully decorated with a beautiful engraved motif on the surface of two ships in an estuary, very old wooden ships, painted with various shades and warm shadows of brown and gold, with the river water a white and hazel, cornflower blue, with a faded forest green background as a rise or island of land in the distance. The picture was under a layer of protective glass, attached to the surface via brass screws, that had faded themselves to a mottled golden-brown. The glass was marred by a few chips and dings, but barely noticeable. "What do you think?" he asked her.

The image reminded her of something from the land of waves. The table spoke to her it was rare and expensive. "It's beautiful," she smiled.

"I looked on the bottom. Guess what make it is."

"Hm…I don't know."

"It's a Senju make, " he whispered in her ear. "A Senju crest burned on the bottom. A Senju _Keisuke_."

Her mouth dropped open for a second, and she grinned, completely taken aback; "Those are expensive!" she whispered back, "And _rare!"_ Rion led her to another piece of furniture, so another couple beside them might have the chance to look.

"God, those are expensive," she said again in disbelief. "No wonder it was gorgeous. I bet that might take away at _least_ five thousand..."

He grinned. "Don't know. Ain't too many people here yet. Slow crowd," he said as if he could easily run away with the piece for less than what it was worth.

"Oh they'll be here," she assured. "If that flyer listed 'Senju made end table' they'll be here. Rest assured," she smiled, looking back at the little object currently being admired by a white-haired woman and her white-haired husband. Kano felt old herself, glancing at them; she was sixty-nine after all, and one more year later, she too would be exiting her sixties like Rion had. He was now almost seventy-three. An aunt of hers, in her family, Keiko knew, on her mother's side, dyed her hair when she was in her forties and fifties, and so on through. At every funeral or family function, there she was, with black hair, glasses, and a smile. Now Keiko felt like she was taking on that exact same role, without the large glasses. And with a twenty-four year old son still in Ame, she felt younger yet, but thanks to Rion's presence, not half so lonesome. She walked with him to look at the tables and chairs, and two colorful old rugs spread out over four dowel rods in the back. Both rugs were handmade in the land of grass.

They walked back around to the tables with the smaller items Rion had passed by to get his number and card. There wasn't much even he was interested in until they came to a small rack with nine dresses; "Oh now I can so see you in this," he pulled out a sleeved and slinky black one.

"Oh shut it," she said quickly, half-blushing.

"What about this one? It looks like your size," he pulled out a very old blue and pink flower-printed kimono that looked like it was worn around the time of Rikudou senin. Keiko stepped on his foot and he put it back. "Ok ok," he grinned.

They reached a last table holding four weapons, two katana, and two kodachi-length blades, one of which caught her eyes, not looking as cheaply made as the katana. "For someone who owned a Senju table," Rion said low in her ear, "You'd think they'd have a Senju _blade_ or something."

"That one looks like it might be worth something," she pointed.

Rion took it up and held it, the smooth black hilt was solid steel, he could tell by knocking on it with his knuckle and by the sheer weight of it. Most of the weight was on the hilt, giving it a one-sided balance just on the end, which was unusual. The sheath was a warm heather grey, like the color of her sweater, and looked as if it were not the matching piece to the actual blade. It was made of light aluminum, and was scratched in a few places, chipping the matte finish on it. Slowly, he pulled on the hilt, and the clean carbon blade flashed back at him, with the smallest engraving up toward the top—he could not decipher the little faded symbol, and showed her. "Gatsu?" she guessed, "Or moon? I can't tell which…"

"Maybe moon, but I don't know a blade maker named 'moon'," he chuckled and sheathed the blade. She took it from him and pulled it out again a ways and examined it further, "It must be tsuki," she decided, and gently, set it back down.

The auction was starting.

The auctioneers began with the home items on the tables, an then halfway, went to the large pieces of furniture. A couple pieces in, the auctioneer arrived at the little Senju-made end table which he introduced as such and said it was about eighty years old, and then he started, "Who will give me two-thousand? Anyone with two-thousand? Two-thousand dollars. Who will show me their card and give me two-thousand for the little piece. Two thousand dollars… One-thousand dollars. Bidding now at one-thousand dollars, who will give me one-thousand for this beautiful little piece…" Finally, once he got down to fifty dollars, the white-haired old man who she and Rion had seen before, raised his card—"Number four and fifty dollars. Sixty dollars now. Sixty dollars, who will give me sixty dollars?"

Beside her, Rion raised his card.

"Rion!" she gasped shortly. "What are you—!"

"Number nine with sixty dollars in the corner. Seventy dollars now, who will give me seventy dollars?"

The old man calmly raised his card without a sideways glance as to who was challenging him.

"Rion!" she said through gritted teeth—"Seventy dollars. I have seventy dollars in the corner on my right. Eighty dollars. Who will give me eighty dollars? Bidding now at eighty dollars."

Rion raised his card and nodded. Keiko stepped on his foot hard, "You don't have that kind of money!" she whispered.

"Shush," he whispered back, smiling.

She rolled her eyes in anguish as the bidding quickly exceeded a hundred dollars.

"One-twenty, who will give me a hundred-twenty?"

Rion nodded.

"One-thirty now—the gentleman in the grey with one-thirty. One forty is the bidding now. One hundred forty dollars—we have one-fifty now, one fifty dollars, one-sixty…?"

She stepped on Rion's foot again (though not so hard, but a steady reminder) as the bidding grew to two-hundred.

Rion went to three-hundred before he stopped.

A new, younger bidder jumped in and beat the old man, and took the little table, worth thousands, for exactly five-hundred dollars. "What a shame," Rion muttered to her in the back of the crowd.

The young man looked extremely happy as he went over to the little table.

Keiko smiled, "Oh well."

The furniture soon concluded (the old man and woman took away a nice side-table at a reasonably low price) and the household item and furnishings continued, and Rion nudged her arm when they got to the little black dress. She rolled her eyes behind her eyelids and said firmly to him in his ear, "No."

"You got one at home I don't know about?"

"Shut up," she murmured.

"You're just savin' that one for your other boyfriend in waterfall—aren't you?"

She smiled, and looked as far away from the auctioneer as possible. The dress went for five dollars.

Another auctioneer (the son) took up the four blades at that time, so two were going at once, and Keiko walked over to the table with a small group and Rion followed her.

"First off, a water-crest katana, like new…" the auctioneer showed off the blade. The particular make wasn't special on either of the long blades, and both went very cheaply. The first of the two shorter blades he picked up was the one in the grey sheath, and he explained it's history, too, "Now the sheath does not go with this particular made, the owner said the original sheath was lost by one of her sons…Has a solid steel metal hilt, which is rather unusual; an old Tsuki make, owner says it's probably about forty to forty-five years old, purchased in waterfall."

Rion glanced at Keiko, and she smiled and nodded.

"Ok, who'll start the bidding at fifty…?"

Once he talked down to fifteen, Keiko nudged her companion's arm, and Rion raised his card. "Number oh-nine, with fifteen dollars. Twenty dollars? Can I get twenty dollars? Bidding now at twenty dollars."

A very old gentlemen, one Keiko had not seen before, raised his card.

"Number seventeen with twenty dollars. Thirty dollars? Who'll give me thirty dollars for the Tsuki make?"

Rion raised his card and nodded.

"Thirty dollars on number oh-nine. Forty dollars? Will anyone give me forty dollars?" He looked expectantly at the old man, who instead shook his head 'no'. "Forty dollars? Anyone with forty dollars…? Going once…going twice…Sold. To number oh-nine. Thirty dollars." The recorder beside him wrote down the number and amount.

Kano picked up the blade and smiled.

The old grey-haired man got the last kodachi.

"Finally bought something," Rion teased her, as they walked away. "How does it feel? And more importantly, whatever will you do with it? All those late night missions to the middle of no-where," he whistled, "watch out for Keiko-san everybody…"

She nudged him gently on the arm to show she disapproved of the idea, while staring at the blade with the little faded marking. She looked back at the old man with the walking stick who had picked up the other kodachi, looking over his purchase as well. He bought it for fifteen, since no one else bid. He was wearing a black suit and tie, looking quite the business man, appearing about Rion's age, or a little older, seventy-three or four. There was an odd feeling in her mind that he looked as if she should know him, and yet he did not appear familiar to her at all. The old man secured the little kodachi at his side, and with his brown cane, went up to the desk in back to pay just as the paper was shuffled by an assistant to the record keeper. A young man came walking up to him; it was the same young man who had bought the little Senju-made table. She could just barely hear him address the old man, "Uncle, can I help you home?"

"No," he said, and cleared his throat. He pulled out a black umbrella and walked a little closer to the edge of the tent.

"Uncle Stein?"

"You go on boy," he said, and unfurled the nylon, "I'll be fine," he said, and went out in the rain.

"Somebody you know? Rion asked her.

She shook her head. She concluded she couldn't place the name.

.

Early in July, she received a visitor she had not seen in quite some time, Sogorie Sarin. Yoshiko smiled in surprise and invited him in. Careful he might be an imposter, she said instantly, "Sakumo is off to town, he just left."

"Oh, how is he?" Sarin asked casually.

"Very well," she smiled, inviting him in to sit in a chair.

"I confess," he said, "I did come here to see you."

"…Me, sir?"

"Yes. I was wondering what your plans were as far as your place with the village, if they were the same as Sakumo—goodness that sounds strange," the old man smiled faintly. "I still can't believe it, and yet now I can, after seeing this place. Hizuren was kind enough to tell me," he explained. "He's got quite a bit of land down here, doesn't he?"

"Yes sir," she smiled, "He does…And, as far as my plans…I was going to be discharged as well, and stay at home. I'm on, well I'm still on all sorts of leave right now—I was planning on quitting, yes," she said.

"Oh, I see, yes, I suppose it's only natural. I was just going to ask though if you might be interested in going on a mission with me. I'm too old to start up a regular group like I once had, but with the war over, I can at least coordinate some short-term relief effort, transporting food and medicine and what not. And, well, when I was thinking of a team, naturally, I thought back to the team I once had, including you. Only those, I can trust, mind you. This is completely different from what Teran is leading. I am in charge again, and I've got six men to pick for a new 'light-house' effort. It shall still be called that," he smiled shortly. "I'd just like to do something useful, is all," he explained in a serious tone. "There aren't many opportunities for an old man these days besides paper-pushing, and as shocked as I understand it, I've had quite enough of it lately. Azami first suggested to me I get out again, and the idea appealed to me, so, here I am. Would it be too much to ask if you would consider it?"

"Oh no—of course! Thank you so much for the opportunity, sir, it means a lot. Could I…get back to you? I'd like to say yes, but…I'd still like to tell Sakumo first."

Sarin nodded, and stood, "Sorry I missed him," he smiled. "I wouldn't mind the chance to speak with him again."

"He'd like that, I'm sure," she smiled, and showed him out.

A mission, she thought afterwards, admitting to herself a small part of her felt caged and nostalgic for it. After all, it'd been years since she knew that routine, and those familiar faces of that unique little cell. She never wanted to work at the school, or any place a trifle genin was sent. "One more mission," she said to herself, remembering to thank Azami. "And then I'll be gone, too," she smiled, liking the idea.

Sarin had planned three initial trips, each lasting in total, about a week or so at a time, and the first two were to go west of Tanzaku town, in the land of fire, to deliver medical supplies. Sakumo had a knot in his throat when he saw her put on her vest to go and there she stood, with a curious air like he was seeing her for the first time in her true element. He didn't want her to go, but he found he could not tell her to stay. The cell, the team was too important to her: and he knew that feeling and respected it. Excited to get out of the house…she kissed her baby son three times and made (absolutely) sure her husband could make due on his own without coming up with a scheme to start some unnecessary empire of red stalks and green leaves…: "I asked Keiko-san to check on you, so you don't take out a loan," She smiled, and he laughed. The middle of August, she left for six days, and returned. She stayed home for almost a week respite, and then the second trip commenced the last week in August.

Sakumo kissed her before she left in the morning, and he reminded her again if they ever ran into trouble to summon Korado. She smiled, "I will," she promised, "And this will be it…" she smiled. "I miss Kakashi too much, I really like being a mother…"

"Well you missed me, too, didn't you?" he teased.

She laughed, "Of course. We're a family now," They were. For in a few days they had achieved eight years of solid, steady marriage, and they were both proud they'd stood the test. And with the newest addition, she loved her new role in their happy trio. Suddenly, she tipped up on her toes and whispered in his ear, "And one more on the way."

He blinked, "But—what—you can't be sure—Wait, _when_—?"

She smiled. "We'll see soon. And I'll see you in a week, Sakumo."

"Um—yeah," he was suddenly reluctant to let go of her.

"I love you," she blushed at his attentiveness, and kissed him one last time on the side of his cheek.

"Be careful," Slowly, he let go.

"I will."

He saw her off the front porch and watched her go until she was all the way out of sight.

.

About half a month away from turning a whole one year old, Kakashi knew instinctively his mother wasn't there again, and Sakumo had to use a little extra patience to get him to sleep that quiet night. "It's all right," he said softly, rocking his child in the chair, "You used to love this." That love finally kicked in, and the boy finally got tired enough to close his eyes and sleep. Sakumo returned the boy to his crib, and Sakumo in turn returned himself to the front bedroom, and closed the middle bedroom door behind him, but he left it slightly ajar, feeling that tug of an invisible line like between two hollow cups, except this line was a father-son pull of love. He stood there for a moment, listening to the darkness, like it was strange to feel that kind of love. Being the last week in August, he was beginning to get ready to cut the wheat to make the majority of his new profit. He would need his wife, too, to help him reap what had grown in the garden acres. They'd picked the rhubarb already, and some of the other crops, and it was all ready to go in the downstairs cellar. Sakumo had begun to make a very long list of all the things he needed to do, and so he turned and sat down with it by himself and checked off the one thing he did today; sharpening the blades, namely, his father's old scythe.

He was interrupted some fifteen minutes later, when he could feel someone approach; he focused his chakra, and knew who it was immediately. He went to the door and opened it, seeing Keiko-san walking briskly up the front lawn—she seemed out of breath, and had to catch it before she could speak—"What's happened?" Sakumo asked her in concern, meeting her, "Are you all right? Come in…"

She stopped, straightening, "Sakumo…Raiders have hit, to the west, just south of Tanzaku—Tsunade just got the word at the hospital from a messenger bird, and she's on her way there now. I don't know if…" Kano trailed, hoping with all her heart Sarin's team was un-involved. And yet, that was impossible given the location.

Sakumo seemed to stop all thought as he took in the information—no sooner he leapt for the woods, he ran back and grabbed his old green vest and slung it on him, and no sooner he was out the door the bedroom, he stopped again and looked at the door slightly ajar, feeling an invisible, innocent string pull him back. No sooner than Keiko offered, "I can watch him," than he'd grabbed his jackknife from off the dresser and slit his thumb, and he summoned Pakkun without even hearing her.

Sakumo leapt out for the last time, out of the bedroom and the house without a word. He ran quicker and straighter than he'd ever run before, slowing a fraction as he entered through the gates on both exits so the guardsmen could recognize him. He caught up with Tsunade's four man cell, just five miles north-west out the gates. Still, he ran faster, and honed his chakra to pick up the slightest signal. They traveled north-west, and still, Sakumo did not slow down.

Tsunade wondered how he had the power to catch up so incredibly fast. There was no headband on him now, and yet she could never ever think of him as a civilian tagging along. Hatake Sakumo was still the Shiroi Kiba in her eyes. She ran faster herself, to keep up with him. But finally, they all began to slow—another, and better chakra sensor was in the her group, and led them just south of the town, to a piece of open land that dipped over a hill, and in a green little valley below—they could see the blood and men scattered there, beginning at the hilltop.

Sakumo ran past them, stopping now and then in a daze, looking around, using his eyes now and not his head, desperate to get to her first if she were there. Finally after calls of 'Here,' and 'Over here', for Tsunade's ears, Sakumo saw a female lying on the north end, where the valley had dipped low, and a red dog looked up and began to bark. Sakumo ran to the both, and kneeled himself nest to her left side. Korado's voice turned to whining, but Sakumo could no longer hear him—his wife's eyes were closed—there was a gash streak above her right brow, and he laid his left hand there, "Yoshiko," he murmured to her. "Yoshiko, wake up…" There was dirt and sweat mixed with the blood, sweat had beaded all across her forehead, leaving her few bangs slightly damp, and with his right hand, he brushed them aside, and tried to wake her from her pale, cold state, "Yoshiko, I'm here," he said tentatively, "I'm right here. I love you."

Tsunade arrived on the woman's right side a few moments later, and she immediately asses the woman's wounds. Sakumo did a double-take and registered the younger woman's presence, and gradually looked where she was healing—his wife's abdomen. And Tsunade immediately grimaced, Sakumo stared at the blood across his wife's clothes, as if it should be someone else's, but in a circle, it spread below her stomach, and it had spilled onto the ground already, with all the time that had passed. The bottom of her brown vest was bloodied and torn in a few places by assailing shuriken and kunai—Tsunade looked up and said in a light voice, so unlike her, "I'm so sorry…Sakumo…"

He stared back at his wife's face, trembling inside for her, "Yoshiko, wake up, please we're going to get help, you're going to be all right. Please," he pleaded after a moment, tears coming to his eyes, not used to being in the reverse role of empty assurance: "Yoshiko, please, I'm right _here_," he ran his hand through her straight black hair, "Yoshiko…"

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and he held his breath as she finally opened them, with effort, the only part of her she could even move, and yet, as he watched her, she did not appear to be seeing anything, but staring somewhere into the blue-green darkness of night. "Yoshiko," he guided, smiling in tears, "I'm right here for you, you're going to be all right, just hang on," he promised blindly.

But she looked up at him, with those dark brown eyes of hers, and saw him.

He grinned nervously, "Hey," he touched her cheek on her right side, and his right hand took her own and he smiled, "I'm here. I always said I would be," he voice trembled.

"Sakumo…" she whispered so quietly, "I love you…"

"Save your strength," he said, touching his lips to her knuckles.

"Tell…our son…I…love him…"

With that, she closed her eyes again, and had to let go.

Sakumo stared after her in nervous shock—a still moment passed where he felt enormous cold encompass around him, the back of his neck shivered in cold, and he couldn't breathe as he remembered what she had just told him: she told him she loved him. "No…" he mouth moved on the word. "No…" He held her cold and stiff hand tighter and he put a hand to her face, "Yoshiko…" he called out to her, "Yoshiko, no, don't…"

Meanwhile, Tsunade had leaned back, no job for her to do, watching the scene with reflected pain in her eyes. "Sakumo, san," she said gently, but low enough to hear, "She couldn't be saved, she lost too much…blood," she finished quietly. "No—no," Sakumo refuted, believe she was only asleep, "Yoshiko…" He checked her pulse, and continued trying to feel for it, but there was no life pulsing in her now. She had been freed from her pain—"No…!" he cried. Sakumo stared at her pale face in anguish, "No…!" Tears rolled over his cheeks and he cried, "Yoshiko, please," whispering, craning his neck over her hand he still held. His tears rolled onto the back of her wrist and down her arm, and he shook his head, "No," he murmured. "I'm right here now, you can't leave me."

A ninja from her cell walked down the hill solemnly, and saw the former jounin Sakumo in that mourning state; he stopped and empathized, watching the suffering that was overtaking the shiroi kiba. After a moment, he tread another light step forward on the fated ground, and asked his captain silently, "Ma'am…orders…?"

She hesitated, watching Sakumo cry noiselessly, his eyes shut tight, and his form shaking silently. Tsunade was about to say something, even she wasn't sure what, until she heard Sakumo speak quietly; "Get them out of here."

The ninja paused, suddenly remembering the man was no longer one to give him orders. "…Ma'am…?" he clarified.

"…You heard him," she returned stiffly. "Get them home. Back to the village—where are the men that did this?"

"All here—three dead…" When he hesitated again, she looked behind her and said, _"Now,"_ in a quiet, but commanding tone.

He nodded, and quickly trotted back up the hill to fulfill the order.

Sakumo's head bent lower, and Tsunade almost thought he'd collapse over his wife, but he stopped short, but so close to the ground as he took her hand and held it still. "Don't," was the only thing she could hear him murmur. "…Don't."

Tsunade glanced to her right, and noticed the red dog with his head on the ground, over his paws. His left hind leg, from what she could see was gashed, probably by a shuriken. There was another graze on his flanked nearest her, and she healed that, as well, not taking much of her energy.

Tsunade looked back after she finished, and Sakumo was upright again; his eyes and face wet and red. He checked the side of his wife's neck one last time, to tell himself it was all horridly real.

Yoshiko breathed no life.

Tsunade thought he'd break down again, but he merely chocked on that stifled down sob and glanced up at the night and to it's darkness and stars in the eastern horizon.

"Sakumo…" Tsunade murmured to him gently.

For a split second, he wanted to believe that voice was his wife, coming back, but he looked at her face and she laid there still sleeping her long sleep. Sakumo shut his eyes, as another swell of grief compressed his face. Still holding her hand, he let his left hand touch her face one more time. He trailed it down to her neck, and again, nothing beat back at him beneath the skin.

"Sakumo," Tsunade said a little louder, though she wasn't sure if it'd gotten above another whisper. "Can you…"

He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, what her small voice was asking him. Perpetually shaking, he readied himself to pick her up and stand. "I love you," he whispered dimly, before he did either.

Tsunade took his arm when she thought Sakumo was faltering under the emotion and physical weight, but he regained balance on his own, carrying his wife with both arms before him. He fought down his grief for two seconds as he walked slowly and unsteadily. Korado got up and followed without sound at his master's heels.

Tsunade moved with him at his pace, waiting to catch him if couldn't make it up the grassy hill, made slippery by the small pools of blood and the dew. Though he stopped and paused in emotional glitches, he did not fall backward, or forward, but he couldn't move any faster than his sober, still pace of a cold and freezing walk. The silence around him began to be deafening, and he much preferred the cold. Tsunade moved with him the entire time, and so did the red hunter. They reached the north gates a little over an hour later.

Sakumo carried her all the way to the hospital, where her team had been waiting for only the last twenty minutes (so they said). And as he laid her down on a moving bed, there he lost all feeling of his arms to touch her face again. He simply stared at her, pale-faced and more numb still in his back and legs.

"Sakumo…" Tsunade touched his shoulder with a warm hand. She ushered him to sit down, but he refused and pulled away from her warmth, and in turn, stumbled backward, but the backs of his knees caught against one of the other beds, and he flinched away; it was Sarin, but the man was already under a clean white blanket. He turned, and instead looked on hopelessly, swaying slightly, staring at his wife, feeling chills clench around him in the sterile air of the room.

"Sakumo-san," Tsunade said again, "I'm so sorry."

Emotion rolled to his face and he turned away from any one of the nurses or men who were alive and staring at him. He walked out the side door and turned around the back side of the building and went right, giving not a damn as to where he was headed but away from there. Korado had followed slowly behind him, struggling somewhat to keep up. Sakumo was headed south, half crying to himself, half in a cold and utterly dumb shock. He collapsed near several objects but continued on his way, leaving behind the old oak trees, until he looked up and saw the river, in the distance, and the little wood bridge it passed under. He made it there and collapsed in final, and it took a moment for the memory-laden air surrounding the little delicate place to permeate his skin and trigger a cascade of grief and shock in him to release and spend itself as he cried, his knees on the wooden slats, and his right shoulder against the wood rail. Korado whined for a minute beside him, but his master simply could not hear nor care. The dog walked on slowly, and headed back north, for his old master's home, for the comfort of Keiko—except the dog was greeted only by a puzzled Rion. The red hunter went in anyway, and laid himself down sullenly in her room and slept.

.

Less than twenty-four hours later, a shinobi showed up to a house on the east end, and Natsuko answered, "I need a sensory," the shinobi said. "For a search and recover."

Naoya stood up from the card table, along with two other men, who were young genin. "I am," he blurted, and lied, guessing the man in question as the man who had lost his wife eighteen hours before. News had spread already throughout the village. Naoya had heard it from the radio. The report was unofficial, and the hokage did not want it otherwise.

His relatives at the table suddenly gasped—but Naoya and the ninja were gone before they could voice anything.

Naoya ran with the shinobi, feeling again that rush of stealth and secrecy he'd long since left behind. "Search is on the south side," the chuunin said. "Open your eyes there."

The Hyuuga nodded, and after about a half hour; once they were well out of the village, another two men joined them, one of them was Murase Shin, who looked completely flabbergasted at him in a world suddenly gone crazy, "Naoya!" Shin exclaimed. "What are you doing out here? You aren't a ninja…!"

The other two men were suddenly taken aback also, but Naoya smiled back evenly, "If I am still up on current events, neither is Sakumo. He will be among equals. He has always been a friend to me. Let's go," he said, and the four ran on. Naoya used his eyes and searched.

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"Must be one of the most _precarious_ God damn searches for a civilian. Though we can hardly call him that..." Danzou uttered with a loose smile.

Hizuren stood. "I'm going to join them. Sakumo is a friend. I don't want to lose him."

"Good luck…" his old rival said to him.

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Another day later, Hizuren instructed the two to carry him home: the man was still sitting brokenly on the wooden bridge on the south side of town like he were a homeless man without a penny to his name and the hokage led the way, canceling the search order as he went. But both Naoya and Shin converged with Sarutobi's team just as they reached the home and forty acres outside the village, and Hizuren and the men came back out—"No, no, just go on home now, this whole show is over. Tell the Uchiha not to bother—make sure they know it was none of their concern, nor any kind of threat. Now go, you're all dismissed," he said again.

"But will he be all right?" Naoya held his ground.

"I don't know, who can say…" he said truthfully to the Hyuuga, "Go on now."

Reluctantly, he left, and Hizuren was left alone. He went back into the house to speak to Kano, and was almost sorry he did, she was still trying to calm the eleventh-month old down, his shrieking had reduced to crying—the woman straightened as the hokage re-entered. Rion had been sitting next to her and he stood out of respect. Hizuren nodded uncomfortably. Rion sat down again just as so.

The front bedroom door was closed, and again, Hizuren's focus turned on Kakashi, "…Is that boy a sensory…?" he asked lightly, in view of the boy's distress. It was only comment light enough he could think of.

Keiko smiled briefly for a moment, and she stood and said 'sumimasen', and went into the kitchen with the boy in her arms, fighting and crying.

After a moment, Rion briefly glanced at the hokage, "This isn't good, you know."

"Mm," Sarutobi agreed, remembering the state he saw Sakumo in. "It can't be helped. He must recover, and move on now."

"But for what reason," Rion said intuitively. "His lady, his love his gone."

"He has his son," said Hizuren. "If he can't go on for that sake, then…he was not as strong a man as I thought he was."

"We're all weak, in the face of broken love," Rion said, eyeing him, with an ironic smile in his memory.

"Yes? Well…Even if the world is cruel, we still have our responsibilities…"

With that, Hizuren left the house, and returned to the village, where he too had a little baby at home.

Rion sighed and went into the kitchen, where the cries were gradually diminishing, but upon his entrance, Kakashi suddenly wailed and she tried to soothe him in vain.

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After sleeping until three in the morning, he got up, stirring the red hunter in the room. Korado looked up as Sakumo looked in the next bedroom, where his child lay sleeping, and the little brown dog slept, just as sound, underneath the crib. Silently, Sakumo walked out of his room and saw his stepmother sleeping in a chair. He wondered why she was there.

He turned and went into the kitchen to go out the back door. For a moment, as he stepped out silently, closing the door, the chill he received forced him to look immediately on his right, in case the quiet ghost of his father might be there in his place. But Sakumo saw nothing, as he usually did, at any time of day. Weariness over came him, and so the son sat in his old place, on the right end, and he looked at the tall yellow grass, awaiting to be thrashed and thrown into a big sheave on the lawn. All thirty acres beyond of it, he stared at his listlessly, like it was all done in vain. Like the slivers and the cuts and the hardness of his palms were unnecessary—Sakumo put a hand to his forehead, colder still with the memory of Yoshiko's sweet, but breathless face, white as the hand on his pocketknife. He wept one more time over her, and watched the dawn come less than four hours later, with tears in his eyes and without any color to his face either, nor thought in his mind. It was too foggy and restless to pick out anything as bright or cleansing. He went back into the house, and into the kitchen, passing by his father's breathless, cold presence, still watching the wheat out in back, growing so unevenly for the wielder.

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Sakumo had said not one word to her for the next seven days, entering into a sober September. It began to rain again, warm and hard on the third, and after that, he watched it all go to rot, and laid not one hand nor eye upon the sharpened blade of the tall wooden shaft of the old scythe. He walked the distance of the garden, leaving his child in care of the two dogs, and that was all he did, but save and store that harvest, and he touched not the damp stalks going to waste.

Kosaka could not believe the son could abandon it so easily, and never got a word out of him as to why. "You've got to cut it, before it spreads," But Sakumo merely shook his head and eyed his dog tag and headband on the dresser. "For God's sake, son, do something with it, it will at least keep you busy."

"I have already been keeping busy," he said obstinately, but not harshly.

"You have one last chance to save it—won't you at least do it for the money?"

"I'll make no profit," he said, and looked at his name and number etched on the metal, seeing himself in the reflection.

"But Sakumo, you said you'd—"

"I said a lot of things. I cannot fulfill them now, and I never will. I'm sorry. I don't have the strength my father had. Thank you for coming by."

Meanwhile, his child's cries had not lessoned. The little baby, now one year old, could recognize whose presence he knew was gone. But Sakumo had not attended her funeral, and he could not tell him she was gone for good.

The first day in October, he walked down with his indigo mask up and headed for the Academy. They usually kept the registration papers, and the clerk woman gave him a surprised look. The only thing he took away was one of those forms and a pen, filled it out, and returned it.

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"This must be the _worst_ God damn case of a mix-up ever," Danzou declared with a grin on his face as he walked into Sarutobi's office with barely a knock.

"I don't have time for your games, Danzou," he said. "I'm sorry."

But Danzou waved a yellow copy sheet in his hand.

Hizuren glanced at him in the middle of moving the contents of two file cabinets. "What is that?" he felt obligated to ask.

"A copy," Danzou plunked the page with his finger proudly, "Of a new registration form to be a Konohagakure ninja. I told you it was all a mix-up from the get-go."

"Do you think I care about something so trivial as that?" huffed Hizuren. He caught himself though in his anger over the matter and stared at the ninja holding it, knowing he should not be so careless towards such a precious matter. "…So?" he said expectantly.

"It was entered less than sixteen hours ago but a 'Hatake Sakumotsu'."

Hizuren's eyes widened, and he walked forward to grab the paper. After a short tease, Danzou let him have it, and Hizuren looked up at the top. _Age, thirty-five, Blood type, birth date, marital state—'still married,' _he'd written,_ 'though currently parted by death', _and _name, Hatake Sakumotsu_. Hizuren looked through all the checked 'yes' and 'no' boxes, medical questions, and other questions, and then to the bottom, where the Shiroi Kiba had signed his full name.

Danzou was grinning. "Can we admit him back, and have him pass the genin test, you know, have him conjure up three little clones and do a transformation jutsu?"

"This is…" Hizuren caught his breath from the shock he was still in. "…Uncalled for…" he brushed past the man and Danzou looked after him, still grinning wildly, "Don't you mean _'unprecedented'_…? And hey, is that his _real_ name…?" he added, calling after him. "Never knew…" Danzou shrugged, smiling. "What a crazed son of a…"

.

Two months passed and they were still debating the issue, as to whether accept Sakumo's re-registration or not—the council was mixed by the persuasion the hokage held, as to the matter of Sakumo's one year old son, and Sakumo insisted it was his right whether to raise him, or not, stubbornly refusing to back down from it. Until finally, Sakumo had gone to Hizuren's office and demanded he not be prejudiced from the stare of seventeen years of prior service, and a young child, tacitly, he thought he could no longer love. "In June, over a year ago, you were _begging_ me to let you go," Hizuren said, "She wouldn't want to see you give up your dreams," he insisted, and Sakumo nearly suffered an outburst, "What do you pretend to know of my dreams? My _dreams?_ My dreams died with her in August, Sarutobi, the field has laid waste and rotted since. I have _no_ dreams, _no_ goals now, but to finish what I've started. You cannot discriminate me on _personal grounds!"_

"You're running away," he interjected dryly.

"So what if I am," Sakumo bent over and stared at him evenly. "It's my _right_ to. And who watches my son in the interim is _my_ business, and not yours. You know I'm right. I'm full _within_ my rights."

"I know you're most certainly…" he was about to insert any other word, but he said, "…not," staring back at him tensely. Never had he seen Sakumo raise his voice at him, no matter whatever mood he saw him in. They'd been equals for the longest time, respecting each other with courtesy at every turn, until now. Sarutobi shook his head, out of a mixture of disbelief and enormous pity. Sakumo could not know what he was saying, but the man knew exactly how to climb back on the wagon and move on, by untying the horses, and letting it sit there while he might hide beside it while the world would pass him by. Keiko-san had come to warn him (in the strictest confidence) not to give command back to him. She too foresaw what road Sakumo had his melancholy sights on; the wooded, gnarly, nasty bit, treacherous and more lonesome and high than green. She feared this was the true colors of the boy, brought into light (or dark) by love with loss. He was Hatake, and he did not know, and could not try to grieve properly and let her go. "Check him on this now," she begged, "So he might not live to regret it…that is…if he doesn't get himself killed first…" Sorrow and consternation encased her intense round eyes as he'd asked if it would come to that. From her long experience, her brow furrowed as she sighed to herself. "Please Hizuren, I beg, you, do not re-instate him. I don't know the consequences of what he might do."

Hizuren sighed himself, and said calmly, "Get out. We'll talk about this again when we've both cooled off."

"There's_ nothing_ to argue," Sakumo straightened and muttered for the cheap dexterity he bought himself for the last words to be said on his tongue.

Hizuren sighed again.

.

Two weeks later, toward the middle of January, a crises did break out, in the shinobi world, a crises of a missing nin from tsuchi, on a rampant trek down through Kusa. The ninja was a high-class jounin that was only able to be put down by another high-class jounin. Tsunade had just left to go down south, and Orochimaru was in the west, and Jiraiya, still somewhere in Rain, no one knew (not even his mother) when he would yet return. Many other jounin were otherwise engaged with other matters, including Danzou, and Homura, on the council, who could not allow or afford for Sarutobi to go, leaving plainly, the name of Hatake Sakumo conveniently on the table.

And so, as he was asked by Homura, Sakumo dutifully went, and was restored his rank of jounin, leaving behind his one year and four month old in a care of the boy's only grandmother.

Rion did not like it one bit, but she had insisted after she couldn't talk the Hatake out of it; her hands would be better than anything else Sakumo had had planned. "You realize, though, you're going to end up raising him before this is all over."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm not naïve, Rion. All I'm saying is that at least he's with family," she said, and the two could hear the child crying again from the spare bedroom.

"I know you're being caretaker of the universe, Keiko, but still. That kid has to come back, and if you can't reason with him, who else can?"

She nodded shortly, "I wrote to Jiraiya, Tsunade should have given it to him by now…He's the only one of us that hasn't tried yet, to turn Sakumo around."

.

Jiraiya was on his way north, to converge upon Sakumo, hopefully, with the three Rain youth right by his side. He'd been with them over two years now, and they were progressing well; ready, so to speak, for this impromptu but incredibly personal mission to the north. The tone of his mother's letter was urgent, and he could not let slide the horrid tragedy befalling the team Sakumo's wife was on—Kano had written to him all numbers of that cell had died, including Sarin, who had gotten the message out just in time, via a summoning. Of the six men that had attacked them by surprise, only one had survived, and was in custody. Jiraiya could not imagine the pain his brother had endured and Jiraiya felt a little guilty, he had not been there to see Sakumo in his immediate distress. _He's been unpredictable,_ his mother's written words echoed in his mind's eye. _He's built a wall around himself, and he still won't grieve and let go, I know he won't. Please Jiraiya, I beg you to see him and help him out of it. Sakumo has just proved to me he's his father's son, please smack him one: he needs it now. We cannot let him regret this and have him wander. Jiraiya, I believe part of the reason your father couldn't let go of his brother's death was the shock. He carried it with him, and couldn't overcome it, and he blamed himself for it—I see that with your brother now. He was there when she died, and he must blame himself—He loved her too much, Jiraiya, please tread lightly on that memory. I know it is a difficult thing to balance, but you must please try._

_I love you sweetheart, & wish you would come back soon. I miss you so much. With love, your mother._

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"Hoseki, girl, you're not going out," her mother said to the seventeen-year old.

"But mom, he needs me—"

"You've done enough, sweetheart. Please, come back inside."

"I won't be gone long, I just want to make sure he's being looked after."

"Hoseki you cannot wait on him hand and foot, get back inside, this instant!"

It was the day they returned—Coushander was in the hospital, with Dalzen, if Dalzen had not left yet at this late hour. "But…"

"Hoseki, you're tired," her mother convinced her. Get some sleep, and see them in the morning. Now…"

Reluctantly, she did as she was told, led by the arm, and tugged back into their home. She tossed and turned in her old bedroom uncomfortably, running all the events of the mission over and over in her mind and his pain, his ending anguish since the battle and boat ride stalled in her mind like a broken wheel. "Kousa," she murmured empathetically, picturing his brother's smile in her thoughts. "Mpfh…" she buried her face in her pillow, and all the images began to circle round again, like painted horses on a carousel; she grew dizzier and more weary each time she had to go 'round again. Finally, it threw her off, or else she finally fell off, and she slept.

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"It's Kosaka," he said behind the door, "Please Coushander, just open up."

Instead, his five year old son opened the door for the man.

"Sakumo, where's your father?"

"In the bedroom."

Sakumo watched the tall man tap on the dark wooden door, and Coushander surprised them both by tapping back and he shouted, "Get out, Kosaka!"

The man was taken aback, and he turned and glanced swiftly at the boy. Kosaka turned his ear and listened, but heard no sound of movement behind the door. Stiffly, he turned and glanced down at Sakumo sorrily before he left, "He'll cool off," Kosaka assured in a quiet voice. "It'll be all right."

Sakumo silently closed the door after him without making a single sound, and then closed his eyes and wished so hard at that moment he might have his mother to run to, and bury his face in the apron over her skirt, like he used to, whenever he was sad and troubled. He went back into his room quiet as he could and cried. He would have to find dinner for himself, but lying there in despondence was so much easier…in both their cases.

It was three days since she died, and even Zosha grew tense in the field, seeing no one since the early morn.

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	41. Ride The Blue Wind High And Free

(Quick note: Much apologizings for Sakumo's rather cruel use of the language in this one. The similarities between father and son are prevalent here, and it's these crucial ties that bind that set one up for the final stretch of the road…!)

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 41  
_**Ride The Blue Wind High And Free**_

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"It's official," he returned and broke the news to his wife, who was waiting in the kitchen. "He's gone, and Keiko has been looking after his son."

"Oh no," Misao sighed. "Can't anything be done?"

"She said she wrote to her son. But I don't even know how that will work out—Damn," Kosaka muttered. "Hate to say it, but Coushander rubbed off more on that boy than I ever thought possible. The day; the very minute Matty died, he was up against the wall in that hospital room in Kujira, bent over, broke as broke can be. Something about it cracked him so deep, I never thought a man could take it that hard…I guess Sakumo walked through a lot of his father's widow's weeds out in the fields; he's doing the same thing now. Something about Hatake men, I swear…"

"Well, think about all the pain and horror he suppressed from his shinobi years. Coushander had quite a wall around himself," Misao commented pensively. "And I'm sure that took a few years to build. If he couldn't face what upset him, he ignored it. Or suppressed it."

"I feel sorry for the son. He should have been told about all that sooner."

"He was only, what, seven, eight years old?"

"Yeah, well…and in a perfect world, Coushander wouldn't have suffered at the end either," Kosaka turned to head out the door and into his field. "It has to start somewhere."

Misao watched her husband go, and then after a sorrowful sigh, she too returned to her work, wondering about the youngest Hatake, caught in the flurry of grief.

.

The oldest Hatake was careful not to do a slightest thing out of customs for the hunt. But in the battle, those rules no longer had much weight when he engaged the jounin on his own, and relentlessly, beat him into submission after taking a kunai straight on just below his right collarbone. The wound was of no consequence to him while the man was still alive, and Sakumo had fought too disjointedly from the start, remembering not how to use his chakra, but forgetting how much _excess_ he had of it. And he spent too much, with so little left to go, forgetting the rules of conservation Dalzen had liked so. But even at the bitter end, Sakumo had not cared. He was just strong enough not to.

So the sensory found him and the rouge ninja borderline unconscious. The three Konoha chuunin escorted him to the station on Kusa's side, and by luck, as Jiraiya inquired, they told him the Shiroi Kiba, just checked in. Jiraiya seized the opportunity, but was forced to wait another four hours for Sakumo to wake. By then, he secured his Rain youth easily to the woods and started them a fire. The station itself was located toward the eastern edge of the country in a secluded little spot of grassland, where a small forestland jutted nearby and intermixed with the small lakes, rivers, and typical wide open yellow plains.

Jiraiya stood in the brown room with the gray floor with one Konoha chuunin, and Jiraiya watched his brother continue blinking as his face was the palest white Jii had ever seen it; "What is our status…?" was the first thing his older brother asked. The ninja was about to report dutifully until Jiraiya said simply with folded arms, "Perplexity," and Jiraiya stepped out further under the one dim light of the room, standing opposite the bed, and the lone, fogged window looking out over the plain. Jiraiya turned to his fellow compatriot and asked, "Please, give us some time alone."

As Jiraiya was still a part of the village and as jounin, outranked him, the ninja nodded obediently, and closed the door behind him.

There was one bamboo stool in the right hand corner, and Jiraiya walked around the bed to occupy it, and sit at his ani's left side. The twenty-five year old only son of Kano Hoseki looked on with a dismal and almost horrified stare at the level wound on his brother's right side; their team had no medic, and the doctor at the house present was not of Tsunade's caliber. The wound was left semi-bandaged, in order to breath, and Sakumo was on a medley of pain reliever and antibiotics. The thirty-five year old brother recognized him now, moving his eyes, and not his neck. "Ji-Jiraiya…"

"Sh—Might be best if you don't speak. You know there's no privacy in places like these, but you know we need to talk. My mother wrote me and told me all that was going on, I know you've heard this before, but I'm really sorry, Sakumo, for what happened," Jiraiya could see tears come to his brother's eyes, lying there motionless.

"Ji—Jii—"

"No, no, just keep quiet—"

"No, I'm…freezing—is there a blanket anywhere…?"

"Oh…" Jiraiya got up and checked one of the cupboards on the back wall, looking first for signs of cobwebs or even mice, but seeing nothing, he pulled out a gray flannel sheet and shook it once in case it'd gathered dust. It was large enough that he folded it over and laid it over his brother. "Better?"

Sakumo had shut his eyes and sighed deeply.

"It is a little cold in here," he remarked, not really feeling the chill. Looking back, his brother was opening his eyes again. "I'm glad you don't want to get so cold you'd die of it—it must mean you still want to live, right…?"

Sakumo eyed him with a wide stare that gradually narrowed.

"My mother didn't sugar-coat it for me. She knows you too well, because," Jiraiya lowered his voice and leaned over, "She knew our father pretty well. And that's why she's really worried for you. Everyone is. And I'm sorry I wasn't there. And I know it must be hard, but—"

"What have you lost?" his brother whispered, in a hard and angry tone Jiraiya had never heard from him before.

"Well…If I lost you, I wouldn't be the same, I know that. Look Sakumo, I'm sorry, but you do have a little baby to raise. Remember when you told me you were fighting for me? Sakumo you've done your part, go home, for good, and let me fight now. It's what_ I_ want to do. Your heart isn't even in this anymore, you've just done this to run away, you know it, and so do I. Please. Don't give up your dreams."

"You don't understand," Sakumo refuted, "What—"

"No, I do," Jiraiya continued quietly. "And it just upsets you. My mother said you'd be stubborn. She's said it's what you inherited. And she told me not to back down, even if…you are my niisan," he finished beneath a whisper. "Even if you are supposed to know…what's best."

Jiraiya did not take pleasure in the compressed look his brother's face sank to in sorrow and agony; he looked away for a brief moment, and then back, and Jiraiya felt sorry for him, the deepest kind of sorry. He felt the epicenter of all the pain right beside him, emanating in unseen waves, pulsing from that grieving heart. Jiraiya got off the stool and could not bear it—"I'll come see you again later, I won't be far," he said, and left quietly to check on his students.

Sakumo's recovery was not short; over the course of the night infection spread into his lungs, giving him a difficult time breathing, to say the least, and a steady fever to go alongside. The blanket came off, but the fever did not go down. The doctor gave him a gram of quinine, and Sakumo spent a horrid twenty-four hours in that room by himself. Jiraiya visited him again, the next night, and held onto his brother's clammy white hand. Sakumo did not say a word, though he stared hopelessly at the ceiling the entire time with half open eyes, as if it were having a conversation with him.

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A day and a half later, he was let outside, wrapped in that grey blanket after surviving his fever (and the horrid quinine) and feeling the arms of cold wrap round him again. He sat on the edge of the gray concrete out around the back of the building and witnessed the sun falling slowly in the west over the forestland. Jiraiya found him there and sat next to him, "Feeling better?" he asked, and watched his older brother's eyes fall from the horizon rather morosely.

Even though physically, he did, Sakumo shook his head.

"Oh, well, it'll get better. Did you give any thought to what I've said?"

Again, Sakumo shook his head, more quickly in response to the question. His dark eyes stared pensively into the Kusa green grass, as if he could see the cold dew on the every blade beginning to form.

"She told me to smack you," said Jiraiya casually. His brother's eyes narrowed, not out of spite, but from that inborn pain and suffering. Without warning, Jiraiya instantaneously carried out the request and socked his brother one up the side of the cheek. Sakumo fell over, clearly not expecting it, and he fell against his left shoulder, and almost let out a quick yelp of pain as his right tensed. He coughed and then slowly sat back up, clutching the blanket tightly around him, and sat with the pain on his right side, rising for a moment; his right cheek burned. Sakumo flashed a narrow glare at his otouto.

"She wasn't kidding…and so neither am I. We want to kick you out of your stupor, Sakumo. Everybody does."

"Well, if everybody does," he answered through gritted teeth, "Why don't they all smack me one and get it the _hell_ over with."

"Because it doesn't matter coming from twenty people on the street, it only matters from the _one_ person who _cares_ about you, and I don't want to see you like this."

"Then close your damn eyes," Sakumo growled.

Jiraiya smiled. "Then I would bump into things. I already walk into walls, Sakumo. Surely you cannot wish me a fate worse than that," Un-shielded, he could see his brother just barely holding back a fairly large quantity of raw, senseless anger, the kind of anger he'd found in bars and crowded markets at night on his travels. Jiraiya knew he was pushing him, to the thinnest limits, breakable with just one more sarcastic phrase. So Jiraiya changed his tone and said apologetically, "I'm sorry. But you did deserve it. This isn't like you. You have been a selfless person all your life, Sakumo, I know, and the one chance you had to settle down was taken from you, but that doesn't mean you have to act selfless again and abandon those _dreams_."

_"You shut up about my dreams!"_ his anger boiled and he shouted. _"All of you!_ I'm_ sick_ of it!" Sakumo continued in a rage, "I am not as strong as my father was, I cannot continue!" he said obstinately.

"…How do you know?" Jiraiya asked gently. "Maybe he said that too, at first. Maybe it was hard for him at first, to go on. But he made it, and so will you. He just didn't have any other profession to turn to, not like you."

_"Damn_ this profession," Sakumo cursed in a seething tone, with a deeply rooted tone of a steady hatred in his voice. It shocked Jiraiya, both the words, and how they were said. "Damn it to _Hell_," Sakumo went further, "It's where most of us are going anyway."

Jiraiya's mouth hung open. And as he began to think, he could not formulate any calm response except another impulsively quick hit to the side of his brother's head, which he did, "You can't mean that," Jiraiya uttered as Sakumo picked himself up off the grass and fixed his wrap. "You _can't_ believe that," Jiraiya said again in disbelief.

Sakumo glared at him evenly with a cool rage, "As sure as suna has endless miles of sand, the hell I fucking do," and he turned to walk down the side of the building.

"Wait!" Jiraiya rose and followed him, "Sakumo!"

"No," he turned, wanting so badly to hit him back, but instead his words were hard as stone: "You listen to _me_ and get the _hell_ out of here. Go _home_," Sakumo turned and marched back into the station by himself.

Jiraiya grimaced, stopping short as if he too had been slapped on the face, all but invisibly. But no matter the harshness of his older brother's words, he had to continue trying…And so did Sakumo.

.

Still feeling giddy from meeting Shodaime, she felt chills coming from the register as she sat in a chair, watching Coushander fight hopelessly, asleep in his nightmarish dreams. The men had given her some privacy, but even if they were there, she would have reached out anyway, for her teammate's right arm, but Coushander suddenly flailed and retracted it as it felt her cool touch and Coushander breathed heavily, shaking his head frantically; his body quivered from it's previously static state. She bit her lip to save herself from crying, and she said softly, "Coushander, it's all right, you're going to be ok now, we're home. We're home now. Please…can't you hear me…? It's me…_Keiko_…" she smiled, briefly.

But the words Harou Nekai had offered repeated in her mind, about Coushander wearing out his heart with the trauma of their final battle and of his wounds. "Kousa," she pleaded quietly, watching him writhe. "It's all right. I know it was painful," she shuddered at the thought of his arm—she tried shaking away from the red and sordid image, she nearly cried out, "But please, please pull out of this, please, I beg you…I love you, Kousa," she whispered. "I do. I like you, very much. Please…" She straightened instantly when she heard the door slide open, and she expected to see Dalzen, and she did. Takato entered after the tall Morino, and another fair-haired man followed; it was Harou. "Hello," his smile was quick and fleetingly short, in the blink of an eye his face was even set again, "How is our convalescent…?"

She was about to answer when suddenly, she thought his use of 'our' was unnecessary, since he had not spent one day in water country with them as a part of their team. But Dalzen answered before her anyway, as he sat on an empty bed stationed against the opposite wall. "Still the same," he said quietly, folding his arms. "Has he calmed down any?"

She looked to her teammate lying there and noticed his shaking had lessened again to near motionlessness. "Um…yeah…"

"Poor boy…You said…" Harou exchanged glances with Takato and Keiko in the forefront, "…He was the only one, who saw Saru-Shin…die…?"

Again, Kano was at a loss for words, but Dalzen picked up steadily, nodding shortly; "…We're guessing."

Harou nodded solemnly, "I see," he said quietly.

Keiko did not know what to think of him; if he was being inconsiderate, or simply inquisitive, she did not know. But Takato spoke up and asked him, "Did you know…our captain?"

"…Very well," Harou nodded stiffly, staring at the sheets. "He was…like my own brother," After a second, Harou seemed to notice again he was with people, or even there, present, at the hospital. "Excuse me…" he apologized suddenly. "…I will leave you now."

Kano frowned, watching him go, concluding he was deeply saddened, though he did not much show it. Just then, she could see her captain in her mind's eye, lying on the ground, Coushander's arm, the horrid blood stains…

"Keiko—are you all right?" asked Takato, who took a seat on the end of Coushander's bed.

She woke up out of a cold chill and looked up at him, "Oh—um, yeah. Fine," She could feel Dalzen's stare on her profile, on the side of her face, second-guessing her with his piercing black stare that she believed might be able to see anything he wished it to. In turn, she succumbed to her true feelings; Keiko could not put up a wall equal to the looks she knew were on her right now; she cried, and she cried heavily, praying only her mother might not walk in and find her, and lock her away in her room for the rest of her life. "Keiko…" Takato went to her and stood by her side, placing a comforting hand on her back. "It's all right." She cried harder before it lessened. Takato offered her a couple tissue off a side table behind her, and he sat back down—by then, Coushander appeared totally asleep.

"Why…_'Keiko'_…?" Dalzen said after a while, after she had semi-collected herself. "The name. Why that one?"

He'd directed the question on her, and she slowly came out of her reverie and remembered, "He…He liked it," she said simply, remembering. "He said—He once knew a…beautiful lady, named Keiko," Her eyes welled again, and her head ached, through she had no cold. Tiredly, she put her head against the cool side of her palm, and her elbow rested on her knee.

"A girl?" Dalzen said quietly.

"I don't know where she was from; he didn't say."

"Maybe…Coushander might know," Takato offered.

Dalzen watched her quiver a bit, struggling to control her young emotion. "Would you rather we call you by your real name now, Kano?"

"Mph," she hung her head lower, trying to assuage her headache, "I don't mind…I never liked my name," she said honestly. "I like Keiko, much better."

Takato caught from the corner of his eye, his stoic teammate had smiled. Dalzen never smiled, but maybe it seemed maybe he was beginning to form a habit of it. In turn, Takato smiled, and he looked back at Coushander, beginning to twitch and turn again, clenching his shut eyes and brow—his breathing began to pick up again and the nineteen year old's smiled reverted to the thin and anxious line, watching his friend and teammate. Each of them were like the closest kind of family to him now. The suffering of the past couple weeks were shared by each of them, and it was still difficult to believe they were back on home soil so soon.

A second later, Coushander's entire body tensed, and he shivered like he were cold, and flinched his head sideways and back again, and he moaned once an indiscernible word; his face scrunched and tightened as if he too would join up in the crying—Dalzen rose and looked on at him with concern. Then he turned and went out the door, and called for a doctor, or nurse.

But as soon as they got to him, Coushander's behaviour lulled, and his sleep was a deeper one, and a silent one, and he stirred not once more until Dalzen watched him alone, later on, in the night…

.

Zosha nickered as soon as he caught sight of his master, heading out the back door early the next morning to give him his grain, and clean out the stall. The big grey horse trotted to the fence line of the paddock and whinnied. Coushander paid little attention to the affections but he had to notice it when the horse kept nudging his working arms with his muzzle; "Oh get off," the man muttered in a calm tone, and he stepped back after his job was done. "What?" Coushander stared back at the horse's curious stare. "You have food. You have water. Go. Devour."

But the horse stayed stiff in place, and after another moment, Zosha walked toward him, as if he were expecting to get something else. "Well aren't you odd," Coushander said quietly, and rubbed between the horse's eyes. Zosha nudged his shoulder, and Coushander could hear him breathing in and out, Matsuko's scent, on a robe he hadn't washed.

And though Matsuko had been sequestered to the hospital for the previous three weeks, the horse still was asking the obvious question of her return. "Go away," Coushander tried guiding the gelding's nose away from him, "She's not coming back—Get, go. She won't be…back…" he chocked on the last word, cleared his throat, and turned away, and climbed the fence a step and landed on the other side. Zosha snorted, and slowly, he edged away to his new feed. Coushander watched him closely to make sure he was eating it. He couldn't afford to have the big grey horse go on him now.

And after a while, Coushander stared on bitterly, with tears in his eyes he quickly wiped off on his light blue sleeve. He turned and went back to his house as soon as his stomach growled, which was only a minute later. He woke up his son, and put together something for breakfast.

_What's your problem_—Coushander bit his tongue before he said it aloud upon seeing his only son climb wearily into the chair of the little kitchen table big enough for two. Instead he set down the plate with the scrambled eggs and got them both a fork—but there was only one clean one left in the drawer. So, Coushander let the boy have it, and he took his own plate and ate standing up, with a spoon. "Good morning," he heard Sakumo squeak.

_Good morning?_ "Where'd you learn to talk like that?" Coushander finally blurted, and broke into a loose smile with fresh tears coming to his eyes, and he laughed like he found it was funny.

Sakumo instantly shut his mouth, and found he could not take another bite that way.

"I didn't mean it like that," Coushander said, and found his son already crying noiselessly. "I'm sorry," Coushander apologized. "I didn't mean it. Don't cry. You're not the man of the house, I am. It's my job. I'm allowed to cry, not you. You're too young. You're too young for this…" his words provoked inside himself his own repressed feeling of losing more than he could bear, so he stirred himself to look sideways again at his son and found Sakumo's head down, still holding all of it in. Coushander put his unfinished plate down and came over to the table and decided not to sit, but turn and kneel before his son, "Please," Coushander said quietly, a half-smile on his face; but his word only incited the boy into stifled tears and he heard a quiet, "I'm sorry," from his young voice.

"No, blame it all on me," Coushander said. "I'm sorry, but you have to put up with me from now on."

The boy cried harder, and Coushander himself didn't fancy the idea in the slightest. "Oh…" He was about to say it wouldn't be so bad, but he fooled himself; it'd be a living hell, and it already was; without the better part of his dreams nearest him. Tears again found his eyes, accepting the miserable and dejected mood he was in and he said, "Come here, face me," Sakumo turned but couldn't look, and Coushander picked up his five year old son in his arms and held him snug and tight as he could, holding the boy's shoulders with his scarred arm, unable to whisper anything in his ear because of his own emotion—Sakumo was holding him back, clinging to his father's old clothes, clutching them with his small fingers. His crying gradually muted.

.

Early the next morning, the station had a group of three visitors, posing as a pair of shinobi and a young, injured child—even the sensory Yamato believed them—the child was bleeding badly, and the Kusa doctor admitted them inside. All three broke their disguises, and all were iwa born; one of the men rendered the doctor unconscious with a taijutsu style hit, as well as one of the Konoha men—they took the other two leaf ninja and held them hostage, and were successful, then, in luring out their true target, the white fang.

"You come with us," the black-haired man said, who'd posed as the child.

Sakumo assessed instantly the trio had to all be jounin level, or close to, to hold his chuunin and slip past Yamato so easily—"They will not be hurt," he said.

"Come with us!" the black-haired man insisted.

Slowly, Sakumo nodded, dropping his blanket and raising his hands half-way. The black haired man vanished suddenly and re-appeared behind him like Sakumo believed he would, and he guided the Shiroi Kiba out the door, together with his two assistants, holding the two leaf chuunin at the backs with kunai at their throats. "You have me," Sakumo said calmly, "Now let them go," he looked at his two compatriots, "You will not attack."

The black-haired man nodded slowly, without taking his black eyes off Sakumo's backside.

The iwa ninja let them go, and then all three iwa ninja, with Sakumo, vanished and disappeared. Sakumo thought he'd seen a quick flash of a summoning world for a second, and then it faded and the haze cleared, and he knew he was back on the north side of Kusa, far beyond the river. He used his senses and scanned for some kind of animal—but he couldn't feel anything but the three around him. "Set it up," the man behind him ordered.

"Forgive me," Sakumo said tersely, "I am Hatake Sakumo. I don't think we've met before."

"Don't play with me."

Sakumo eyed the other two ninja, collecting seals, and placing them on stones in a eight foot diameter circle. "I'm not. I'm being polite. Has no one heard of courtesy before, granted; we never really had the chance back in the war to—"

"Just you shut up. I will ask the questions."

"But I didn't ask a question—" Sakumo felt a kunai blade drawn to the front of his neck and push inward, slightly. "I merely…introduced myself…since I haven't met you before."

"Oh you've met me you bastard. You murdered my brother in that war. My teammates, my friends, all of them are gone. You even got my old black ops cell, too. You will not take a sarcastic tone with me, and you will not run away."

Sakumo considered saying a sundry mix of responses, and he almost inquired with interest after which black ops cell he was referring to, whether it was the one doing experiments with ninjutsu, or with ninja; or both. But he bit back the questions, and the sarcasm he never used anyway, and he said plainly, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Like hell you are," the man in back growled.

"If you chose not to believe my sincerity," Sakumo changed his tone, "I'm sorry for that, too, and I'm even sorrier I've taken up your time, since you must have spent many long days and weeks tracking me down—could I apologize any more to you, or will I never have the hope of your forgiveness?"

"Shut up!" he barked, and quickly glanced over at his companions. "Is it ready?"

"Yes boss."

"Good. Then put it on him."

It was a seal, nearly like the others, but different in writing; Sakumo would not go quietly. Knowing the man behind him wasn't planning on decapitating him; within a lightning instant, Sakumo pulled off a substitution jutsu. The black-haired man seemed to be an adept sensory and found his new position, and initiated a wind style jutsu. Sakumo escaped to the left, but did not dodge it a second time; the force of the gale was weak, and he was only sent back another fifteen feet, met by a fire jutsu that he used a quick water wall to block and shielded himself with the steam—Sakumo disappeared to the right where an earth jutsu was seeking to block him by the third team member, but luckily, his rai-based clone was trapped in there, and not his real form, which was pursued again by the black-haired man with another gale jutsu, but instead, it took on the shape of the white horse, with crazed orange eyes; slightly puzzled and amply curious, Sakumo dodged to the left, and performed another substitution to give a chance to try and learn this jutsu. He kept in back of the horse knowing the wide-circle vision the animal had, nearly similar to that of a Hyuuga's, while the other two members continued pursuing him. But the horse again vanished, and it was then he seemed to catch on to the secret of the summoning. If Sakumo could push the fight backward to the tree lines, the horse would have more difficulty summoning in the tighter spaces, and if he could manipulate the wind backward, he thought he might be able to re-direct it's summoning somewhere else. But there was one cost that caught him—the horse's chakra and the man's were so similar, he didn't think to realize the black-haired man suddenly pulled a switch on the two, and the black-haired man was able to stick a red and white seal on the front of his shirt—Sakumo looked back quickly and the horse he thought was the ninja was there, with crazed orange eyes staring at him. Meanwhile, the other two iwa nin had gone to the other two sides, and Sakumo was therefore pinned on each side. But he suddenly noticed the horse's eye changing color, from orange to a gold coin yellow, and it was initiating a genjutsu Sakumo had not encountered before—but the eyes changing color was half the illusion, and the three ninja bound his body with the use of the seal in a jutsu similar to binding. Sakumo dropped hard on his knees as he shook himself back into reality where it was too late; his whole form was bound.

He was dragged over, to the circle of seals, and kicked in, and rolled over on his side, painfully.

The two iwa ninja smiled, "We got him, sir."

"Yeah…take your places now."

The two ninja sat inside of the circle at opposite ends, sitting beside a stone with a seal on it, and both applied chakra to form an inner barrier seal, to ensure none of the seals were damaged. The black-haired man squatted, and watched his binding barrier take effect on the shiroi kiba. "_Now_ you will know my name," he said, like he were looking in on a mouse in a cage. "It's Iwasaki, Takuma. Iwagakure special jounin, and your mercy. I spent three years perfecting this little circle. I based it off the perimeter barrier, and tried it on a few of yours, in the war. Got a lot of good information with it. It's called the wheel of fire, I named it so. Adequate title, don't you think? Now…it has no purpose, but to cause pain, and give just retribution."

Sakumo writhed for a minute more, desperate to adjust to the perpetual burning fire under his skin, seeking to drive him mad—it would not lesson, nor would it stop—his breath became uneven as if he were choking on raw smoke. He managed to glance sideways, and was able to speak out brokenly, "Well, I'm glad I am the sacrifice now—for my nation—and not any-one else."

"Shut up. What have you to say anything to me. You killer, you murder. You deserve to die."

"We are in agreement," Sakumo uttered, unable to pick himself up yet—his arms could not sustain him; the pain was too powerful.

"What did you say…?"

"You just told me—to shut up; how can I repeat, what I say?"

"I grant you speech," he said magnanimously to the mouse.

"My voice doesn't—" Sakumo lowered again, teetering on the sting and burn of every muscle, and he gasped for short, hot breaths of air. Pain seared through his chest and legs—his knees trembled as he knelt. "You ask me—what I mean—" Sakumo coughed, "I don't even know—what the _hell_ I'm saying anymore," The tremors continued to bind him tightly; he shut his eyes and had to bear it.

"I was planning on going to Konoha soon," Iwasaki said. "But then I heard you were in the area, that you were finally back in service. Couldn't take the guilt, or grief, could you _citoyen_ Hatake?"

Sakumo felt a sudden roil of anger at the words he could not control, lest he knew from what dark and secret well it had surfaced from, maybe from the circle itself—it overpowered the pain and he shouted, "My grief? Get_ off_ my grief! I will not hear it! Not from you!" Sakumo embraced the madness, letting it soak into his veins to defeat the pain and the hurt. The anger boiled higher and hotter in him, far hotter than the blaze of pain from the circle. Sakumo let the insanity in, and he rose a ways, and pushed at the outside of the circle with a steady flow of chakra he could feel slowly releasing from it's chained prison; and the black-haired man staggered back, and looked at his two ninja, to see if they could contain it. Sakumo fell, and his anger could barely save him from the sudden whiplash of pain in consequence to his efforts. He cradled the back of his neck to keep breathing. But after a moment, he would not abandon that rage, and he tried it again, and in a brilliant white flash…

.

Jiraiya sent the frog on his way and waited in an anxious air with the one leaf ninja, the sensory, and with his three students. "Come on…" he muttered, tapping his foot. "Come on…" They waited an excruciating twelve minutes until the messenger frog re-appeared with a small grey scroll. "Here ya go."

Jiraiya seized it and vanished himself a few yards away where they couldn't see him write his name in blood. He signed the contract, and took an enormous amount of chakra, far more than he needed, and performed the summoning jutsu.

A huge, brown canine appeared.

Jiraiya blinked, and slowly, he rolled up the scroll, wincing like he'd just summoned the biggest and slowest snail in the world, and possibly the dumbest. "We need to find Sakumo," he said to it.

The dog was massive, taller than Yahiko, and just sitting there, it blinked, and then it stood on all fours, where it was now half his own size, and the dog sniffed the ground carefully.

"Now!" Jiraiya exclaimed huffily.

Still, the dog sniffed the air slowly, and began to wander away at a slow pace.

"Augh!" Jiraiya moaned. "Sakumo!" He ran out on his own, impulsively, and his students, loyally, followed him. The leaf ninja ran after, and the big dog continued to search for a trail.

But in the end, only Yamato was able to successfully locate the chakra signature of their captain. Jiraiya followed the man closely, as they ran further north. By dusk, they crossed the river, and the sensory confirmed they were headed the right way, with the signal growing both stronger and weaker. He traced the feeling north along the river line, before it began to fade.

Jiraiya saw him first, lying by the riverbed, alone, in a twilight sleep.

.

Every ten minute break the young twenty-five year old had, she spent it with him. He was never awake, but this time, he was, mostly. "Hello there," she smiled broadly as she walked into the room and closed the door gently behind her; the color came back to her cheeks just watching him blink his eyes for the first time in days. She walked over a short distance and sat on the edge of his bed. "Shh," she said, when he tried to speak her name. "It's ok. You're all right," The black-haired man tried voicing the name of his other fairer-haired friend. "Takato is all right too," she smiled warmly, speaking quietly as not to disturb the other men in the room. "You both made it. The fighting is over. They retreated."

"The…fighting…"

"On the north side. I expect you will be shipped there soon," she touched his arm comfortingly. Her tone was light, and she didn't really mean what she'd said. The war was still five months fresh. "How are you feeling?"

Dalzen could hardly move his head. He couldn't answer but to shut his eyes of the pain. "You are going to recover," she informed gently. "Takato has already been up walking around a few times. You need to catch up, mister," she teased with another emotional smile.

"Mm," he groaned, as if he were thinking about it beneath his eyelids.

"Dalzen…I've—I had been meaning to ask you something…" she said hesitantly.

The Morino glanced at her expectantly, and he focused to listen.

"When…When you saw Kousa, last year…was…was his left hand…still bandaged, did you say?"

He couldn't nod, so he spoke; "Yes, Keiko, why…?"

"Oh—no reason…"

"Keiko…" She'd given up the chance for marriage, suddenly claimed to all of them she didn't love Rion in that way, but Dalzen knew her better than that. She might fool everyone else around her, but not him, the oldest among the four now, and still the wisest. Dalzen thought back to the short, chanced meeting and frowned. "He has a different life, now, Keiko," he uttered quietly. "He found out, he didn't want to do it anymore. Keiko, do you even care what you've done to Rion? He loved you."

"But I didn't love him," she refuted defensively. "I couldn't. I'm sorry, but I just _can't_."

"No…You're only sorry you're hanging on…to Coushander."

"No…" her emotion swelled inside her, the way Dalzen could provoke the truth in her so easily, even if she could not admit it.

"He's married. What if he has a young child already? A family? How long will you hold out for him?"

She turned her face away from him.

"I'm sorry…it was unrequited."

"It was not unrequited…!"

He was almost as sure of Coushander's conduct as her own. Dalzen could still remember the look on his teammate's face before he left the village, stripped of any anger or rage; a true look of who the brother was in that conversation; it was clear he wanted and needed, to go home. It was only right. "But did he make any promise to you?" Dalzen asked critically, already knowing the answer was no.

She said nothing again, and put her head in her hands.

He did not hear her cry, or see tears roll down her rose colored cheeks; she merely broke inside, and hid it from him, until she asked finally, in a fragile, light voice; "Dalzen, how long can you love someone?"

"…A long time," he answered truthfully, and he saw her glance at him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen her wear. "But Keiko," he continued quietly. "I can't understand why you can't give him up."

"The same reason why Takato won't either, he was _one of us_. We were a team."

"Keiko," he interrupted, "It's been nearly ten years. He's chosen a different path—"

"Then why do you all still call me Keiko? Why did we all get together on the anniversaries?" she said. "Why does Naoko still write to me? Dalzen…I-I love him, I don't care, I can't help it, I just do. I want to know where he is, and if he's all right. I want to know if those scars have healed. I want to know…if he's stopped shaking, at night…" A silence wafted around them, until she said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to trouble you. I just needed to know."

"You'd never trouble me," he smiled weakly. And the memory of meeting Coushander's wife almost ten months ago gave him pause now, as to whether or not he should tell her the whole truth about their long lost shinobi in her own words. "Just…remember, Keiko…" he settled; "Love, has two sides—from the way he looked at me—or rather, _avoided_ looking at me… Coushander has…gone a very different way. Believe that."

"Then can't we find him? That only makes me want to see him more."

"Keiko-san," the voice came from a doctor who'd silently slid the door open, and she jumped slightly in her chair; "Keiko-san, there you are, please excuse this bother, but would you please come? Kazuhiko tore off his wraps again…I fear he will not calm down unless he sees you."

"Oh—of course," she said again to Dalzen, "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. Go on."

Keiko stood and left to deal with their unruly little chuunin, tired of being so sequestered, just like the rest of them.

.

Sakumo was growing a little taller, a bumpy year later, but his father still set him atop an old pail to brush their big grey horse. Zosha stood, contentedly dozing white his lead was tied to the fence post. Coushander walked up and could barely see his son's face or forehead over the horse's flank. He stepped up, and sat on top of the wooden slat to see him better. "Finished yet?"

"Almost," his son replied.

Zosha turned his neck and nickered at his master. Coushander smiled, "Sorry boy. Got nothing for you," As if in response, the horse snorted disapprovingly.

"…Done," Sakumo announced, and jumped off the pail.

Coushander got down on the inside of the fence and untied the knot in one pull, and clipped it off the main halter. He dropped it into the pail he upturned and set it and comb on a shelf in the open-stall shed. The two took a last look at him on the other side of the fence, and Coushander hoped the old horse would keep on. He could see the horse showing his age, now and then.

Coushander sat on the swing off the back porch and lifted his son on his knee, and his boy curled up against him, resting against his chest. Coushander stared out over his fields and smiled: they were going slow, but they were going, all the same. The garden was acres of bounty, if he could only make anything out of it the way Matty used to. Though he used to live alone, his talents of the kitchen weren't perfect by any means. Just the last week at the farmer's market, he sold all of his surplus, and on Thursday evening Kosaka called it 'sympathy selling', and Coushander had to grin sadly—that's exactly what it was now. The buyers knew the sorrow that had engulfed him and his young boy the past year. The buyers, the people knew him in Kujira, and were sympathetic. He was the first one out of the circle in Kujira by eleven a.m. He was going to go again next week, and he prayed Zosha would not go lame while he was still paying off some medical bills his insurance hadn't covered completely. Money had to be saved and spent wisely now, there was no room for unexpected expenses. But Coushander looked down at his son, and was fully aware of the little jackknife over at Okuda's beneath the glass, giving the boy some secret dreams and his father smiled faintly, he'd buy it for him one of these days, when he had something to spare, or something to sell and do without. Why the little jackknife, he didn't know. There were other more worthy and larger blades worth having their gleam large and humid, and yet, Coushander instinctively never liked any of them, nor did he like the thought of looking at them. There was something more practical in having a blade that didn't really look like a knife.

"Hey dad…" Sakumo said softly.

"Hm?"

"Were we…gonna go and see mom's grave…? You were talking about it…"

Sometimes, Coushander almost thought their boy's personality was a hundred percent Matty's, since only she could ask a question or give an answer as soft as that.

"Well…" his father fumbled. "In another few days…"

"I want to go with you," Sakumo inserted unassumingly.

"Don't worry, you'll go. I just…It's too hard for me. I'm sorry."

Sakumo had a little sense enough by now, not to ask 'How come'. The quiet of his father's voice told why. "How long...did you know each other?"

"Oh…all of my like, boy…"

Sakumo could feel the prick of agitation he inadvertently provoked, and he could not manipulate a feeling like that, so he held his mouth shut.

The memory of her pale face bittered his tears in his eyes. Her soft brown hair and soft dark eyes pined him; Sakumo had those same eyes. Sakumo had that soft-spoken ness, and that gentleness. Coushander held the boy's side a little more snug against him as he stared into the twilight. A low breeze rustled the tops of the wheat, and the bottom branches of the trees around their home. He thought of poplars, somewhere, reminded of how their leaves would gently clap in the wind if it was quiet enough to hear. There were a long row of poplars just outside the road off his old home near Midori. But he couldn't think of that place now, it was too painful, he ignored it. And yet, that was where Matty was buried. He once vowed to himself he would not be buried there, and yet he found his heart longed for Matsuko's gentle embrace, wherever he could find it…

"I'd give anything, Sakumo," Coushander murmured quietly. "If we could have her back. She didn't deserve any of that suffering."

Sakumo clutched his father's kimono robe tensely, burying his face.

Coushander looked at him, and for a moment, he could see the little child, twelve inches long, behind the glass box. In essence, he was Matty's only dream, and only hope. After all the miscarriages (she eventually confessed to), one carried out to six months in her womb, and Sakumo lived, a miracle himself, born from so much tragedy. He could still remember clearly the days and weeks after the little baby finally came home and she stopped her joyful crying; she always had him in her arms, staring at him with eyes that shined the essence of her love, her warmth, and her serenity. But he plugged his ears when she sang, at night or in the early mornings. Quite often he slipped outside to avoid hearing it. And sometimes, he turned on the radio to distract him from his own thoughts he was actively checking. There was no more song in his life anymore, but the blue wind that rustled through the dry yellow stalks throughout the years. The forty-five year old preferred to keep it that way. And there was a little shred of love left in him still saved for his boy, his home, and his land. His kissed his boy's silver hair and told him he loved him. For her sake.

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Sakumo rested almost five hours in the med station before his three Konoha ninja moved him out to return to Konoha, lest another shinobi caught wind and came down running with a knife (or seal) in hand. Jiraiya and his students accompanied them as unofficial escort while Sakumo was still unconscious. Once they crossed the border into Konoha, they rested late the first night, and it was the Rain's youth's first look into the great green Konoha through an orange fire light. The night sky was largely unseen now by way of the deep canopies of the trees, each tall and massive, like foreboding brown and answerless pillars, standing tall and tight together in groves by the hundred, as far as their young eyes could penetrate, deeper they went, and darker, shielded in time by the darkest colors of night, where even the wind was confused and lost, wafting soundless between them. Yahiko had no idea they could stand so close together; old and young alike, reaching upward, for that hidden night sky.

The three Rain youth were beginning to grow a little more restless though they were all trying to sleep with their sensei off to the side, looking over Sakumo with an anxious mood across his face. Nagato first caught notice the leaf jounin was writhing and flinching somewhat in pain. And when the man began to cough up blood, Jiraiya volunteered and picked him up and carried him off to the north-western med station himself.

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"We stopped the bleeding," the young doctor said to him an hour and a half later, and Jiraiya stood to attention. "You may see him, if you wish."

"…Will he live?"

The doctor nodded. "He'll need to stay motionless for at least a week. After that, he can started moving around. You were…lucky to get him here so quickly."

Jiraiya's stomach fell after he heard the news. He swallowed and walked in, and one of the two young doctors went out as well past him. One nurse stayed behind to monitor him. Sakumo was lying flat on a bed off to the right hand side, and Jiraiya approached silently; his brother was asleep. There was an IV bag hovering over him on the left side, dripping without sound through the clear and slender tube. Jiraiya touched the sheets quietly, and the woman near him said softly, "He won't wake for a couple hours yet. But you're welcome to stay."

"Thank you," he murmured outside himself, and stayed for another few minutes.

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The first day in February, the ninja in blue took his first steps across the cold tile, almost like a young child, with the stitches still in his abdomen. For all the chakra healing that had fast tracked some wounds, overall, his body was not so quick to heal; the damage done from the wheel of fire was all, painfully, internal, so deduced the young doctor after Sakumo shortly explained it. "Is that not where all our pain comes from," Sakumo muttered after him, and took that great but slow leap and swing off the bed. He supported a fraction of his weight on the bed itself, and Sakumo breathed deeply as he stood and took the steps on his own.

"It was inflicted on you," the lead doctor returned.

"Not in my experience," Sakumo clutched his side gingerly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Sakumo shook his head numbly and sighed. "You may have saved my life, but my spirit hasn't mended," he glanced at the small distance he'd achieved; "If you haven't noticed…I am not myself. There is no remedy…strong enough…"

"That's not entirely true, Saku_mono_, and you know it," Jiraiya peered around the corner of the open doorframe.

Sakumo had wondered when he'd make himself known, and he smiled faintly, "You haven't…" He was about to say his otouto had not called him the name in what seemed like ages when he also remembered the presence of the other two men near him. "…Been there long, have you?" he finished dryly.

"Long enough," Jiraiya shrugged. "And though…despair was prevalent through many days of his years," he seemed to quote, "it was not his concluding opinion, nor his failing…too much good had been born from that suffering."

"Oh…" said Sakumo, disinterested in his brother's futile hope, "Then what was it?"

"You read it in my paper."

"Resignation?"

"Hope."

Sakumo smiled bitterly. "I've had enough of your hope."

"_I've_ had enough of your _complaining_. How oh _how_ were you able to put up with him," Jiraiya smiled at the doctors. "Whining about this and that, must have been a stubborn patient…"

Sakumo glanced at the doctors, as if to say, 'leave me and I'll deal with him', and both doctors slowly retreated, and Jiraiya smiled to them warmly like 'I will hold my own'. The sage and sannin walked in the room and closed the door behind him. "Now we can get this over with a bloody winner-take all brawl—though I don't think the room is quite wide enough for that…" Jiraiya smiled.

"Oh I'm sure you've been waiting on pins and needles for me to stand and put up a fight in your little game," Sakumo hobbled back to the bed, and carefully, he lifted himself up and sat down.

"Sakumo—"

"Wait. Before you say anything, just let me say this. I'm going to go back to the village, hand in my report, and take back my son, and I will watch him. There. You're satisfied."

"Watching him isn't enough, you're a _father!"_

"Fathers watch their children, Jiraiya. It's the mothers, that give them any love," he muttered.

"Sakumo—"

"There is nothing more to discuss. Everyone will get what they want."

"But you—"

"Nothing…more…" Sakumo eyed him sternly with his voice stinging harshly. "There's nothing more to be done for it. I know what I must do, and I'll do it."

"But.." Sakumo did not interrupt him, so Jiraiya spoke clearly, "What about the next time? They ask you to get after some other someone or situation—you told me you _hate_ this," Jiraiya lowered his voice to speak quietly. "You really hate this," he said again, remembering the animosity so well.

Sakumo moved his head to the wall and blinked. "I think there's something you should know…" he said silently. "In the face of all else, ninja are tools. No, no, just listen. We think, we act, but in the end, we are tools of the trade, and in war—"

"But how can you go _on?"_ Jiraiya questioned him, "You _wanted_ to work the _fields!"_

"As I said before," Sakumo said stronger, and then toned down a bit to a stiff, hard speech, "I could never be as strong as my father, and I have obligations, Jiraiya, I am not some rank genin, as much as I wish I were. With power, comes responsibility. I told Hizuren, even when I was quitting, I would go, if there were ever another war."

"But Sakumo, you…"

"It's all right," Sakumo said, saying the trite phrase for the first time in a long time. "I know what I'm doing."

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	42. She'll Lead You Down Through Misery

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 42  
_**She'll Lead You Down Through Misery**_

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Almost one year and five months old, he hid behind her pant leg more out of reservation than timidness. But shyly, he peeked around to see the fellow silver-haired man stand there with a numb expression on his face, something so cold and dumb; "Thank you…for watching him," he said. "I can't apologize enough for the burden I've—"

"Please, don't think of it. Kakashi," she looked behind her and smiled, "It's your otoussan, won't you say hello?"

The child cried the minute he knew he was leaving the house in another person's arms.

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"So, are you doing anything special on your birthday?" he asked her that night.

"Rion!" she said defensively, but recovered slightly, "I told you before, I don't want to see anybody."

He smiled faintly, "I know. I'm not going senile yet," (He still defended.) "I was just curious if you might have changed your mind."

"No," she answered quickly. "I haven't."

He eyed her backside, pursing his lips. She was turning seventy, and on that day, her ain true love would have been gone for twenty long (and short) years; that was why Keiko was as uptight as ever he'd seen her, and it was made worse of the fact Chinatsu's birthday was only the day after hers. Rion thought even Sakumo had nothing to celebrate on the ninth, either. Sadness seemed to consume those three little days in a row, and he could do nothing to change the fact, except to try and be sympathetic, as he knew he should. "Want me to go with you, to visit the graves?"

"I'd rather—" she slowed down and half-turned; Kano stared at her kitchen floor; "I…don't know," she turned back to the stovetop, feeling the heat tickle her face. She almost felt like crying; she wondered when it might hit her, the memory of twenty years without this silver-haired man in her life to surprise her and shock her, and also, to be beside her. So far, she had drawn no plans around that date but to hide away somewhere and let the day come and go. But Rion slouched behind her on the counter, and the water began to boil. She dropped in the uncooked noodles and waited. "You'd go with me?" she asked, after a moment, forgetting to set the timer.

"Of course," Rion said simply. "I know what he meant to you."

Thinking of her short marriage to him, she began to tear. It was the heat from the steam, rising upward. Coushander sacrificed too many things for her; his pride, for one, and his resources, his fortune, to make up for the mistake he'd made. But in the end, he had nothing left but love enough for her and his boys to sacrifice his deepest, darkest memory of water country, wrapped in all the walls he'd built around it after a time frame just as long.

She could still remember the unguarded look of pain across his face after every night when she helped him back to his room. She remembered the pain in his eyes he tried so hard to hide from her when he told her 'thank you' for all she had done for him, and those words, spoken as lightly as he could, were the very last he could ever speak to her, after expending his last living breaths to his son… The hurt she could still feel: his suffering, and his shortness of breath, and the morphine still crossed her mind. And she still remembered the quiet, short smile of peace across his pale face that morning he died.

She cried now, she was the only one of the five still left.

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With Rion walking beside her faithfully, she walked with a heavy heart and a basket full of flowers in her numb hands early the morning of tenth, two days later. She felt like humming a sad, forlorn tune, but she didn't know which to choose, and besides, she wasn't sure Rion would attend to the chorus as much as he was attending to her now. She was glad she had him, and thankful she was no longer alone. After he returned from Taki after the crises at the Great Divide, he approached her hesitantly one afternoon in the hospital in the middle of her shift and stuttered to say hello. She returned the greeting distantly, and then he said, "Look—um, I'm gonna say something," And she thus waited for him to say something. He cleared his throat hoarsely then in the uneasy respite and said, "I just want to know if the, um, offer, is still void—of—of me, that is. If it is, I swear I will leave you now, and, um…go back to Kusa, or some such place where they know me…But if not…"

She smiled faintly; she had a nine year old boy at home, but her feelings of regret had not changed. "Well…"

"You don't have to answer right away," he said quickly. "Though…that might be best, for my sake, so I will know what to do with myself for the rest of my days."

"I…"

"I still love you," he blurted. And he looked away like he'd just snapped himself in half inside a mouse trap. "Can we be friends?" he wondered aloud.

She took a moment to say, "That's…all I wanted…" she said heartily, though things had changed so much since Coushander had died. But she smiled at the man before her now, not wishing to injure him again.

Rion still melted at that loving, warm smile, it was a woman's smile, and a mother's smile now all in one. But come the events marking these days, the smiles were less frequent and far in between. Her son was still gone in Rain, and Sakumo was not "the sweet boy" she once knew, having his second taste of grief, dragging himself through the misery hard and low, much like Rion had done to himself when he lost the woman right beside him.

So with tears for all the pain and beauty, she laid the white lilies on all the graves there in that small and open grove; one on both Coushander's and Matty's graves, and Saru's, and their parents. Almost ten years before, she'd planted some yellow and violet-eyed iris bulbs in the four corners of the circle, to mimic the ones outside the inlet path, beside the wooden sign that still stood by the trees. There were not more than five or six in each group. The stems and leaves were all lying dead past the end of the season, but come later again in May, certainly by Coushander's birthday, they'd pop back out again and show their delicate satiny blooms. She looked around the place thoughtfully, and then she noticed a man, in the distance through the trees, coming down the path. She walked forward to get a better look and saw it was Sakumo, carrying his young son in his arms.

"Really…" Rion looked behind him and murmured in surprise.

She met him out on the lawn and smiled broadly at the little child, who was holding a few stems of purple wildflowers, and his father explained, "He tried to eat most of them, and dropped the other half, along the way…" Sakumo's voice faltered a bit toward the end, and she smiled at him, immensely glad he was there, nonetheless, "It's all right," she said. "May I take him?"

He nodded, and passed the young boy over to her, "My you're heavy," she smiled. She was about to take the little flowers from him and give them back to Sakumo, until the child pushed them toward her face and smiled. "Oh! Thank you!"

Sakumo turned, and walked on for the grove.

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He came back with them, along the west road, back into the village, and walked with them toward her home, making light conversation, talking mostly of Kakashi.

But she asked the new father as they turned onto her road, if he might wish to see one more grave. Rion eyed his open expression carefully. Sakumo flinched, but he agreed. Kano did not say another word until they came to the cemetery on the south side. Ironic or not, it was nestled just south of Sarin's old woods. The field was open and green with trees on all sides, and it held the graves of a hundred men and more. Sarin was not there, however; his final wish was to be buried deep in his woods, with a little plaque that read a four lined epitaph he had composed himself over fifteen years ago. Keiko offered again to hold Kakashi while he went on by himself. When the baby was not looking, she gave him the purple wildflowers. Hesitantly, Sakumo accepted them. And the two watched him find the grave, and after a still, windless moment, kneel before it on both knees. She was near her mother and father, in front of them, with two open spaces near her on the right hand side that her family owned.

He came back, some time later, red in his eyes.

Sakumo went home alone, from that point on, carrying his son in his arms. He walked a long way out on the paths as usual before he reached his home, but before he opened the door, he breathed deeply and close his eyes to scan in case an enemy ninja was hiding anywhere, but instead, he was instantly alerted to the presence in the middle of his own two arms: Kakashi's signature. He hadn't ever noticed it before, nor paid any attention, but it was enormously strong. He was shocked, looking over the child like maybe it was secretly hiding some chakra-infused object. But after a moment, he found it was natural, and Sakumo had no idea his son was that strong. It reminded him vaguely of the feeling he felt whenever he was around Jiraiya. Sakumo wondered then what primary element his son was inclined to. Yoshiko's was earth; his own, lightning, the same as his father's brother. Jiraiya could use several elements, including earth and fire, but neither wind nor lightning, and Coushander's true element had been wind. Sakumo shrugged smally and went inside.

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Keiko went to see him later that night by herself. She waited a moment before he opened the door, unsurprised, and almost as uninterested. The dullness around him uneased her; it wasn't in his nature to stay this morose. She greeted him with a smile, and frowned when he nodded, letting her inside. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked her.

"No, no, nothing, I just wanted to see you, that's all."

Sakumo doubted her intentions, but had no evidence yet to prove it. "Please, sit," he offered her a chair.

"Thank you," she said, and sat.

He knelt down and collecting a few large pieces of paper he'd left strewn about on the floor, "I'm sorry for the mess; this is the only time I can work on it. Kakashi…loves to shred paper."

She smiled, "What is it for?"

"Well—Oh…I suppose…it's classified…but a squad was going down south to run some reconnaissance, under the guise of training for about twelve new genin. Their captain asked if I might point them to a location either on the west end of the river, or the east end…Naturally, I've been plotting a route west, there's more places to hide up there…" Sakumo sat on the floor and stacked the sections he wasn't using in order. "Which reminds me…" he said slowly, and Keiko thought he might bring up Jiraiya, and if he'd heard from him, but he said, "I came home, this afternoon, and I sensed my son's chakra, for the first time—it's the first time I've noticed it," Sakumo stuttered. "H-How can that child carry so much already? No, how is it even _possible?"_

Kano smiled. "_You're_ one to talk," she thought back and grinned. "I remember Dalzen telling Takato and me soon after he took you on as a student, he was showing you off to somebody, and the man fainted, because he could sense how much chakra you had."

"Oh…? Dalzen told me…it was…because of the lights…" Sakumo learned the real reason. "Huh."

"That's why a sensory came to see my child—your brother. Jiraiya, too, was quite strong."

"Hm," Sakumo pondered silently.

"I never thought, though…you would be as strong as you are now," she said softly, "Now I wouldn't put it past you to do anything."

He looked down at the maps he was entrusted with—a few of them had been hand drawn by his own sensei, and some, from previous hands, had been corrected by the nomad Harou Nekai. Sakumo said nothing, and looked in the corners of the pages on the west end, at the small handwriting. She laughed a little as she thought about Coushander, if he were to see the strength and power of his own son as a shinobi today.

"…What?" Sakumo looked up.

"You really…look like him," she smiled warmly. "Your father. I can see him in you so much."

"Oh," he looked away dully and shrugged a little. "I wish he could tell me what to do."

"You can always go back, to that life you planned," she offered gently.

He shook his head. "I'm not that strong. She was…" he looked further away, at the wall. "I can't do it. I don't care if I have all this power. I can't do a damn with it, and it's never helped me any. I've got _no_ inner strength anymore. I lost it."

"Then you could find it."

He shook his head again, in a stubborn, tacit refusal.

Some time passed before she could even guess what to say next. He turned down Sarutobi, Kosaka, herself, Jiraiya, and everyone else; even Naoya had come to visit him after he returned, and Kano looked deeply into his eyes that stared over the papers with despair and utter resignation. A sad feeling entered her stomach, of pure pity. He _was_ his father's son, in every way. _You poor boy,_ she thought. The most contented man she'd ever seen of him had been cast out somehow, and laid down for good, like the scythe in the old shed he refused to touch. The baby was all he had left now, but there she sensed something wrong between them, out of a maternal instinct, she could see their bond, on either side, was lacking. She dared not ask if Sakumo loved him or not; she feared the answer more than the question.

Sakumo's glance slid toward her, still watching the floor. He seemed to be contemplating something with a stiff and unemotional expression. Kano waited another moment before he spoke suddenly with a very quiet, pensive voice; "She was…" he stopped there and closed his mouth, as if he decided against it, but Sakumo continued, despite the internal flinch, and instead, found a small way to speak outside himself and tell her the truth; "She was…pregnant," he finished, and both his shoulders drew back into stark, still reality and he shifted. "A week and a half…at least. I'm not sure," he shook his head dumbly. "She was…planning…our second child," he said, in a voice very still. "She told me…the day she left."

The emotional sadness and sorrow rose to her face and eyes as they welled with tears—"Oh, Sakumo…"

"No…" he spoke genuinely, and his voice suddenly trembled as his dark misery-torn eyes reflected the light like glass. "I don't want, your sorrow."

"I didn't know," she murmured, barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry," Salted tears rolled down her cheeks. _Oh Sakumo,_ she thought, full of feeling. He had not only lost her, but their future of a family, and that was why she could see plainly Sakumo was not attached to the young boy. That's why he's taking this so hard, she thought to herself. Her heart beat for him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

She returned and told Rion, who was still waiting up for her.

She went out early the next morning and met with Kosaka's wife before she visited the Morino's grave, and she may have mentioned the fact while she was there.

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_Sakumo, hope you're feeling much better,_ Jiraiya wrote. _Do not do anything hasty before you're ready to go back out yet. I will be home very soon now, I promise. I feel almost confident the Rain youth can be on their own from now on. I'm taking them on another outing tomorrow—Yahiko has improved, which I'm at last proud, he's a sweet kid, and he reminds me of what I used to be like, if you noticed…! Oh I have one last thing to tell you—I've been writing a novel. It's been over a year now in the making and I'm guessing it'll take me at least another year before it's done. It's rather lengthy, and for right now, I'm calling it, 'The Tales and Times of a Gutsy Shinobi', and it's about a young man and his life as a ninja (in case it wasn't obvious…). I've gotten a lot of inspiration from the rain youth, with their hopes and dreams with a world without war or strife, and from you, and your glorious battles, and yeah I took some cool moves from you—hope you don't mind! My character has even got a little secret pocket knife he keeps with him in case all else fails; his name is_ 'Naruto'—_is that a dumb name? I thought about it while I was eating some ramen the last time I was in the village. I always liked the name, and so it's always stuck with me. I had thought about doing a series of short stories with him, but a novel is more cohesive and simpler. With the war, I wasn't in town enough to meet with a publisher anyway, so I gathered what I had, and put it all into one book, or at least I'm trying to. It really wears me out sometimes, writing this. I've written a lot for it, I'd say about over a half of it's done, that's way too much to quit now, so I want to see it through. I'll keep going—I hope you might read my manuscript after it's done, I'd really love your advice. Well, try and take care, and tell my little nephew I will meet him very soon, I promise. Love, Jiraiya._

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The rain youth were ready. He stepped outside the border of Ame the last day of October, confidant the three youth would make it on their own now. Jiraiya made it back to Konoha two and a half days later, being in a rush, and felt too excited, he didn't know whether to see his mother first, or his brother. But he ran toward his home, and eagerly knocked on the door when he found it, looking just the same as it did when he left during the war. He waited, impatient to see the look of shock and surprise on his mom's face. But, nobody was home. He ran back down the road, and headed for the hospital to find her, the only place he knew for sure she'd be.

Instead, he accidentally bumped into Tsunade—she turned around and gasped, "Jiraiya!"

"Tsunade!" he grinned. "How have you been?"

"Um—ok, when did you get back?" Tsunade quickly took a few steps backward to avoid a massive bear hug from her former teammate.

"Just today—say, do you know which floor my mom is on?"

"Oh—um…last I saw she was on the fourth floor with rehabilitation."

"Ok, thanks!" he smiled, and bounded for the stairs, zipping through people and patients as he went.

"Hey, no running…!" she said after him. "Big dummy…" _He's back,_ she said to herself and smiled broadly.

He skipped up to the fourth floor and looked around in each of the rooms for a good five or six minutes before he stopped outside one and heard an older woman speaking, and he thought it might be her, "…Well I'm glad you've decided to do it. You won't need any more treatments, either, you're free to go today—Kazuya-san will miss you so much, and he'll miss you more if you sneak out during his break," she smiled. "You're his favorite you know."

The young man laughed. "Thanks for all you've done, too. I didn't know I'd get the two best medic nin in this hospital working with me all this time."

"Well it's been a joy, you've really come so—" Jiraiya poked his head in at that moment, and Kano glanced, and looked again, seeing the unmistakable young, cheery face of her son. He grinned, watching her face melt from shock and surprise, to pure joy, and he walked in and the two embraced.

He then grinned and glanced at the brown-haired man in the hospital bed, "Hello," Jiraiya smiled.

"Oh…!" She glanced at Akira forgetfully, "Oh, this is…my son…"

"Your _son_…!" he perked, "Master _Jiraiya…?"_

His mother hugged him again, smiling wide, "I'm so happy you're back," she wiped the plentiful tears away from her eyes and straightened his coat and purple vest; he looked almost the same as he did went he went off during the war. "Oh Jiraiya…Did you just get back?" she asked in a light voice.

He nodded. "Yup. I'm here to stay!"

"Oh good," she agreed, her eyes stinging against the air again. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"Ma…" Jiraiya half rolled his eyes, and sheepishly glanced away from the man in the room, thoroughly embarrassed.

Akira smiled, stretching the white scars and wrinkles on his face, just watching the two. He could see the resemblance now in Jiraiya's dark, spirited eyes, and in his face; his features weren't feminine, but he could easily tell half of them came from her. "So," the white-haired son continued, "I went to the house first, but nobody answered."

"Oh, Rion is out with the graveyard crew. He works part time there now."

"Oh, ok…And hey, do you know if Sakumo is at home?"

She nodded, "He should be."

"Great—how is he?"

Her expression tightened in several different ways. "He's gotten better, than he was. He's been doing quite a few things for the clerical office."

"Oh, good."

"Yes," she smiled quickly, "I know; anything to keep him home…"

"Well, I'll go there now…"

"Oh, all right—um, I get home at…well…schedule says five-thirty, so maybe I'll come home on time tonight for once—I'll make a big meal, how's that?"

He grinned. "Sounds great—see you later."

"All right sweetheart—see you."

She stared after him almost dreamily as he left—finally, she turned to Akira, and folded out the wheelchair for him that had been sitting by the wall. "I had no idea he was your son," he smiling. "You must be so proud of him."

"Yes…if he'd only sit still," she smiled fondly, thinking of him as a rambunctious child. "He's a mover."

"May I ask—who is his father?"

"Oh—his father…passed on…twenty years ago now."

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't think…"

"It's fine," she smiled, "His name was Coushander."

"Was he…also, a shinobi?"

"A very long time ago," she said, smiling to herself, "And he would never admit to it you. Come now, let's get you up…"

.

Jiraiya passed by the academy on his way to his older brother's, and saw some of the students being let out for the day—one of them caught his attention with a head of straw-yellow hair and sea-blue eyes, running out, in the lead of the pack, with a loose brown canvas tote behind his back. He fished something out of it; a watch, maybe, since he looked at it once and ran faster than any young man Jiraiya had seen before. In a quick yellow flash, the boy was gone.

Exiting through the south side of the village, he turned down the road and noticed the acreage out in back was all grass and weeds, with the paddock on the left still empty as a hollow barrel. "Oh no," he murmured. He ran up the green lawn, and immediately saw his brother opening the front the front door, "Jiraiya…"

"Sakumo!" Jiraiya hopped up the wooden steps, in better shape than the land. And after the briefest hesitation, they embraced.

"You said you'd be back _soon_—who knew it'd be this long," Sakumo remarked lightly as he took in sight of his otouto. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a commanding presence, Jiraiya was his own man, and Sakumo smiled.

"Yeah yeah, I know…" Something—someone standing smally in the corner caught Jiraiya's attention, and he gaped into an odd open-mouthed grin—"Is that the pipsqueak?" He exclaimed, and ignored his brother's aloft, "Hm?" as he walked inside with the father and Jiraiya smiled broadly, in awe, "Oh Sakumo, he's just like _you!_"

The two year old was half-shielded by a tall wooden chair. His head was cocked at an angle, looking up at the tall man curiously.

"No, he's _exactly_ like you! Oh my gosh!" Jiraiya beamed, liking the youngster enormously. Jiraiya mimicked the boy and cocked his head the other way. "Hello there little Kakashi!"

"Kakashi," Sakumo smiled genuinely, "Say hello. This is your uncle, Jiraiya."

The two year old said nothing and simply stared.

"Why has he craned his neck?" Jiraiya asked, straightening his own.

"I don't know," said Sakumo. "He started doing it a couple—three weeks ago. I took him to the doctor, but he checked out all right. Keiko said it might be a phase or something."

"Huh," Jiraiya grinned. "He's _exactly_ like you…But I think…maybe…he's got more of his mother's eyes."

Sakumo's mouth remained in a line. He watched his son look at him, as if to say, _wow, there's two of you_. "Otoussan," Kakashi said.

"Ojisan," Sakumo pointed beside him informatively. "Jiraiya."

Kakashi glanced up at the tall and looked back to his father, "Otoussan."

Sakumo smiled faintly and walked over, Kakashi raised his arms, and Sakumo picked him up in an easy swoop—Kakashi stared at the tall, white-haired man, still looking up a little to meet his eyes. "Hey there," Jiraiya smiled. "I've been away for a little while!"

"Little?" Sakumo interrupted.

"Hey, you were gone the whole war!"

"Yeah, well…" Sakumo regretted it, in memory of all his wife had to face on her own—he was reminded of his own undependability and his inconsiderate heart. "What a war," he murmured in cheap defense, so he might not focus on the regret.

Jiraiya smiled at his nephew, "So Kakashi, how old are you?"

"Two," his father answered for him.

"I asked Kakashi,"

"He's shy around strangers—er, crazy uncles…"

"Is that why he cranes his neck—he's doing it again. There, see? Oh!" Jiraiya realized, "Which reminds me! You're both coming to dinner tonight!"

Knowing his younger brother couldn't host a full gathering in his tree house, Sakumo smiled in full, "You've seen your mother, then?"

Jiraiya grinned, "Sure did. She's going to cook up a feast."

The toddler began to fidget in his father's arms, so Sakumo let him down, and Kakashi scurried into his father's bedroom. "Now what's he doing?" Jiraiya asked.

"No idea. He usually screws around with my papers, from the office…"

"They didn't glue you to paper work…did they?"

"No…well…I…volunteered for a few things…at Hizuren's, direction…" Sakumo said precariously. "They're trying to push me to be a sensei of some sort. Sarutobi suggested it."

"Oh…!" Jiraiya beamed, "You _should_ do it! Really, yeah! That'd be so great! You'd be in the village all the time; you'd be the _perfect_ sensei!"

"No," said Sakumo. "That's not what I want to do…"

"Oh…it just seems like that'd be a really great thing to do—I speak from experience now," Jiraiya grinned. "It's _great_ being a sensei."

"No thanks," his older brother said simply.

Jiraiya frowned.

"To tell you the truth…I haven't been on any missions outside Konoha since that one six months ago. I got on working with the intel ward about three, four months ago, doing some things for them. I go there every day for at least four, five hours. Then the office work is semi-convenient…I get to take it home, and be with him the rest of the time."

"And how is he?"

"Fine. Healthy."

"No, I meant, as a father. Do you finally like being one now?"

"No," he shook his head slowly. "Not without her."

Jiraiya nearly rolled his eyes, but caught himself. The action wouldn't have mattered much anyway since his niisan was staring at the wall, but still. "Sakumo—"

"I'll see you tonight then," said Sakumo, "What time?"

"Oh—Probably six or so."

He nodded; "I've still got some work to do."

"Oh—yeah, ok," Jiraiya said, and reluctantly, he left, with a slight smile to see his nephew again that night. Jiraiya used the time and went back out to the Konohagakure to bother Tsunade. He'd been itching to catch up on all her news.

.

Kakashi enjoyed crinkling paper with his chakra. "No no no," Sakumo took away the white napkin before his son could grab it. "No napkin for you, little oddball…"

"Why not?" Jiraiya asked, watching the child make a very sad and forlorn face.

"He's figured out he can crinkle paper; when he was younger than this even. The only time I can work on the maps is when he sleeps…" Sakumo half-smiled, remember after he returned from Kusa, the child began showing the talent to him. "Keiko-san said he started doing it when she was watching him."

"…Is that so? He's a rai-type, _exactly_ like you!"

Kakashi picked up a spoon beside his empty plastic plate and his father's eyes widened—he shook his head instructively, but the two year old did not heed the warning glance and sent chakra down the metal utensil—static charged him and sent an invisible shock back to the boy's nose—Kakashi flinched and scrunched his face from the bitter sting. He rubbed his nose for a minute, and then he sneezed.

The two men smiled.

Keiko came in and set down the basket of hot rolls—"Rion, what are you doing with that pan?"

"The closing ceremony," he said from the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes and sat down.

"Obaasan—" Kakashi looked up over the table on his stack of cushions—"Napkin," and he leaned forward expectantly.

"Kakashi, you just shocked yourself with a spoon," Sakumo said.

"Exactly," Jiraiya answered. "He's learned paper is better," His ani rolled his eyes and Jiraiya continued, "Isn't that right, kiddo," he winked. "Your dad's just jealous. He'd probably incinerate the napkin—and the spoon, and that's before all the lights went out and all the electricity in Konoha shorted out."

Sakumo couldn't say anything—through it was a joke, he didn't dare take something like that lightly. Kakashi smiled at the tall man at an angle, and then he giggled when Jiraiya began making faces at him. Kano craned her head too if she could see any trace of Rion. "How long does that ceremony take?" she asked curiously.

"One more second…" But four seconds later, he came out and finally set down the main dish on the table, and he took his seat to the left of Jiraiya, opposite her.

"Oh wow, my favorite!" Jiraiya exclaimed, smelling the noodles. "Thank you!"

"So what was the closing ceremony?" she started into the vat she made skeptically.

"It's a secret—Ingredient that is."

"Oh…So that's what you were doing with the pepper shaker…" she said dully. To which he muttered a semi-sarcastic, "_Hey_…" cocking his head with a boyish smile—Sakumo noticed this, and Kakashi had imitated him, and cocked his own head. But Keiko smiled, "Well, dig in boys."

"Itadakimasu!" Jiraiya grinned.

"Napkin!" Kakashi asked of the table first.

.

Jiraiya went out to his home in the tree house later that night, and found his brother had kept true to the promise and request he'd once made shortly after the war. Sakumo had raised the ceiling, and he had also extended the north side out for a whole other room, however small it still was. And despite it's deficiencies of indoor plumbing and fabled electricity, Jiraiya felt like it was home—away from home. All his things were still there; the notebooks and a few copies of the dirty magazines he secretly bought were all still stuffed in the mauve container under his bed. With the manuscript of his novel he brought with him in the gray duffle bag, he fished for a pen, and sat on the cot and tried to resume work where last he left off, remembered the good aura of the day. Naruto did not have any brothers or sisters, but he still had a family, his mother, and his friends.

.

The sage and sannin held up the two year old a couple days later, showing him around the ninja village while the boy's father was working the day in the intelligence division. Jiraiya took him around the Academy in the morning, to watch some of the students training, but the two year old with him had an knack for 'monkey see, monkey do' and unbeknownst to Jiraiya, Kakashi stood there, imitating hands signs, and finally, he chanted the proper incantation, and a small poof later, Jiraiya looked down and Sakumo's son had suddenly multiplied. By a factor of three. Three Kakashi stood in a line, and they each decided to play a little hide-and-go-seek. The toddlers darted instantly, and Jiraiya ended up chasing him all around the grounds, only to find out once he caught one by the scruff of his blue little collar, it was a clone. "Oh shit," Jiraiya continued the chase all the way past noon—Kakashi continued multiplying like in some second-rate ninja horror novel. He watched three approach him, and Jiraiya was not smiling. "Ok kiddo. This has gone on_ long_ enough you punk. _I_ am the master of foolery, not you. Give it up, or I unleash the power of the almighty sage technique passed down by generations of wise toads through mount Myoboku…!"

The two Kakashi on the outsides split left and right, and the one in the center grinned and turned and ran—but was stopped in an instant, and the little clone disappeared. It was the young man Jiraiya had seen earlier, come from nowhere with bright yellow hair. "Um—thanks," Jiraiya said.

"No problem," the kid answered. "Good luck—Sorry, I can't stay." With that, the young man turned, and disappeared in a flash himself.

"How does he do that…?" Jiraiya wondered aloud, and made a mental note to inquire upon the list of students for the current year.

"Kakashi…!" Jiraiya called back out, "I am sooo gonna get you, you little _brat_…!" He knelt down and summoned one of his brother's dogs. Hairo appeared. "Find the little pipsqueak," Jiraiya asked of him, "Kakashi."

Hairo spun around wildly like a maniac and yapped; he sniffed the ground and sneezed, and then he darted off to the left. "Be discreet!" Jiraiya commanded, but the dog did not register the meaning of the word and barked louder still. So Jiraiya took up the stealth, and watched the dog find the real young boy hiding behind a wide tree trunk. With his own master speed, Jiraiya instantly appeared and he seized the boy in one, quick, fluid motion, "Ha ha!" he exclaimed, Got you now!"

Kakashi cried out, "No!"

Jiraiya grinned. "How does it feel to be caught, little brat," he teased. "Now, no more jutsu learning for you, young man—God, what a handful you'll be!"

The boy cried out again, fidgeting and fighting Jiraiya's tight grasp.

Hairo barked once, and then darted off, toward the direction of the hospital.

Jiraiya firmed his grip even further, "Come on, let's go see Tsunade," he suggested, getting the youngster in a better position and hold. "Maybe if you start behaving, she'll give you a treat. Sure hope she'd give me a treat," he chuckled. "Aw it won't be so bad now, and later, you can play your new trick on your daddy. Won't _that_ be fun…" Jiraiya grinned. As he walked, he thought about the large amount of chakra Kakashi must already possess to perform two clones at least three different times—he believed it was the pure mark of one of the strongest men he knew. Sakumo had a little powerhouse on his hands. And Jiraiya smiled. Though Sakumo would not choose yet to be a sensei, Jiraiya knew Kakashi would have the best training in the world from his own personal tutor, his father.

.

Early the next morning, Jiraiya stopped over to his brother's to see if he needed to do nanny duty, and Sakumo met him outside, and watched his otouto grin almost deviously. "You didn't tell me he could do _jutsu!"_ Sakumo burst, and Jiraiya laughed. "This isn't funny! Where'd you take him! Why'd you teach him!"

"He didn't learn from me—he was watching the other students in the outside classes. I took him to the Academy. He picked it up all on his own."

"Oh…_damn_…"

"What? Give you some trouble?" Jiraiya smiled.

"Jiraiya, I…"

"What?"

"I…didn't want my son…exposed to that, so soon," he worded carefully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well—I—" Sakumo looked askance, "If he never wants this life…all the better for him."

"What…?" Jiraiya cocked his head, thought not at an angle so sever as the two year old's in question.

Sakumo turned to lean on the door frame, with his own confused thoughts swirling at the forefront of his mind. "This life has never once brought me joy, Jiraiya," he answered calmly.

"But…" Jiraiya looked at him befuddled, unable to read him now more than ever. "So…let me get this straight: you gave up what _did_ bring you joy, for something that doesn't. Wow…that…totally makes sense, there…"

Sakumo's stare narrowed.

"I've never seen the backyard look this bad—" Jiraiya continued.

"Stand in line," said Sakumo, remembering Kosaka's similar complaints.

"Sakumo this isn't like you. You're being belligerent with yourself, and me," Sakumo wisely refused from responding in the brief respite lest he proved him right. Jiraiya continued. "Why can't you move _on_?" he asked simply. His older brother again, could not give a ready answer. "Can you never be happy again?" Jiraiya asked him. "Can you never work that land?"

"No. Not the wheat."

"Why?"

"I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"I _can't_ dammit," Sakumo said harshly.

"Why?"

"Because…I'm not that strong."

Jiraiya smiled ironically, "Sakumo, you're the most powerful ninja I know—"

"Strength isn't measured by jutsu."

"I know. And neither is loss. Life goes on."

Sakumo glanced at him steely, "Not in this household it hasn't."

"Sakumo…" Jiraiya looked at him pitifully. "I don't know how you can love someone that much, and torture yourself this way. It doesn't make any sense."

"…No? Perhaps you should love a woman for forever, and then find out what it feels like."

…I'm sorry," Sakumo resumed, after a long and silent pause. "I don't mean to be angry," he said shortly. "Forgive me."

"You're right," Jiraiya shrugged. "I have no commitments…nor do I want any. I don't want kids…But I thought you did. Either way—speaking of kids…do you need a nanny again today?"

"Please…? Would you?"

Smiling, Jiraiya nodded.

"They asked me in a nine-thirty, for an interrogation."

"Oh," said Jiraiya, a little surprised.

"Now that I'm back in the habit of scans…it shouldn't be so bad," Sakumo remarked loosely.

.

"Shinobi! _What_ in the _world_ are _you_ _doing_ in _this_ _office!"_ the aide commanded from his large mouth. "Who are you!"

"Morino, Dalzen, sir, I have permission," he responded calmly.

"Well, let me see!" the aide held out his hand, wanting.

Dalzen reached into the bottom pocket on his brown vest, and the aide snatched it from him. The aide's eyes widened, and his smirk vanished. "…Oh…" he uttered smally. "I see…Sorry…to bother you…" he let the slip fall back into the Morino's hands, and the aide waddled out disgracefully, and quietly shut the door behind him. Dalzen looked back down at the handwritten note, in Hashirama's hand. The young shinobi turned back around. He was looking for the old mission records, the ones in the Senju cabinet, looking for any trace of a Saru-Shin with the famed, Senju Karada. Dalzen searched alone in the downstairs room for more than an hour and a half before he found a record of interest, relating to Karada. It told that in March, of a year almost ten years ago, a daimyo had detained two young women, accusing them of subversive acts against his regime, and that Karada, with a team of only two unnamed chuunin-level shinobi rescued them, and successfully destroyed the sordid camp in which they had been held. They were two daughters. Dalzen looked down at the faded names of the two women in dark gray, faded ink, _Hagiwara Akeno_, _sixteen_, aide to _Iyadomi Keiko_, _eighteen_, who was a princess, no less, in a neighboring county in the south. Dalzen smiled faintly. "Perhaps…this is it…" he murmured over the old yellow sheet. He reached for the note and took out a pen, and wrote both names and the date in which it occurred. He was just putting away the file carefully, when he heard a soft knock on the door; quickly realizing all the clerks of the old office had keys and could barge in whenever want to, he gently closed the file drawer and hurried to open the door, stuffing the note back in his pocket—"Hina," he said, completely surprised.

"Hello there," she smiled curiously. "Takato said I would find you here."

"But—what are you doing here?"

"To see how you were coming, on your quest of knowledge."

"Oh…Er—done," he structured, staring down at her. "Well—partially," he recollected, watching the sudden intrigued smile spread across her smooth face. "I need to check the history books."

"May I assist?"

"Of course," he stammered out after a while. He'd only known her now for almost a year, ten months, to be exact, and still he had trouble speaking only whenever she was around him, and especially whenever they were alone.

"Well," she admitted as they walked out together, "I do confess—I wanted to ask you what time you and him are leaving tomorrow."

"Oh—uh—seventy-thirty," he answered. "But I don't expect we'll actually get going until eight," He looked down and decided to pursue her—"Why do you ask?"

"Do you genuinely not know?" she answered after a while.

He thought for a moment. In avoidance of stuttering, he remained silent until he could produce a genuine response. Being so frank with her, unlike anyone he'd ever met before, was the only way, he learned, he could talk to her. "No," he said.

He watched her smile without gazing up at him with her Senju eyes. Since she was only half that lineage, another glitter reflected in them, a mischievous one. He was about to thus apologize as he always did when he did not know and could not guess what she was thinking, which was routinely, when she looked down at the tile floor on which they were treading, and she smiled with a faint blush on her cheeks that hadn't been there when last he looked. "Because I like you," she said simply. "Now Morino-san, what have you to say…?"

Dalzen topped stopped in his tracks, and she turned and looked up. "Just as I thought," she smiled at themselves. "I knew you'd have nothing to say. You're very reticent in general, and me, I talk way too much, in general, so there we are. Aren't we?" She didn't mean for her question to be answered. "But, I suppose…I would like to know one more thing…Do you…like me back? I can never guess what you're thinking, to tell you the honest truth."

"…Oh?" he finally uttered. "I never know what you're thinking, either. I haven't a clue."

"I should think now…" she smiled coyly, "It's obvious…"

"Um…" the tall Morino swallowed, feeling quite odd for the first time in his life, "Would you…still…accompany me? Yes…" he said outside himself, "I appreciate…your company…very much."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

She smiled broadly, and took his arm, and said, "Well then. We're going to have to turn around," she guided him, "The stairs are back that way."

"Oh…" he said, as if this was new information.

"So what were we looking for?"

"A—A woman," he said, trying to climb out of his embarrassment, "By the name of Iyadomi, Keiko. She might have known Saru-Shin."

Together they found the princess had died eight years before. A powerful strain of influenza. The leadership no longer stood, and a new daimyo had been ushered in, it was her older brother, or one of them, it seemed. But from the woman's picture, she was extraordinarily beautiful—long black hair like a raven's framed her face, and she had deep, dark brown eyes, a swift brow, pale white skin, with a face of calm, and mild reserve.

.

Jiraiya smiled over his birthday gifts he took to his tree house the night of the eleventh; the first was a full feeling in his stomach over another good meal cooked by his mother. The second was a brand new robe set his mother picked out for him, in a sage green color with an open violet vest. The third was a working pen, silver, and the cap came off the end of it with a high quality stainless steel blade, and that had been from Sakumo (and his nephew). Jiraiya smiled as he unsheathed it; imagining he could dissuade an enemy ninja whomever crossed his path in one clean swoop while he was busy writing his stories…Jiraiya laughed, and looked over at the manuscript on the cot. It was so near completion, he could hardly stand it—perhaps a third, a quarter remained to it…Jiraiya opened it up and read over the last line. It was the middle of a conversation. He hated leaving off in the middle of a conversation—he always forgot the mood of when it would follow. So he leaned over farther, on his elbow, and re-read the last page. Naruto and one of the underlings of the enemy ninja were talking—Jiraiya hadn't known what to write in the interim before his young hero would escape the clutches of the enemy stronghold…

Jiraiya smiled again at the pen knife. It was heavy in his hands. "Well, Naruto… It's time to start thinking about that pocket knife," Jiraiya said, and wrote accordingly.

.

"I wonder, sir, if you wouldn't mind, would you be interested in seeing another young man before you go?"

"Of course."

The genin led the way to the east end of the facility, where there was a six cell block, and only one of those was occupied. Two chuunin stood guard on each end of the hall. The genin let Sakumo see the young man first before he asked the shiroi kiba aside, and explained to him quietly on the other end of the hall, "He's from hidden grass, a genin. He's been here for over two years, ever since the end of the war. Master Tatsuno brought him here because he had been in contact with iwagakure chuunin."

"A spy?"

"Yes."

"So, why isn't he back in Kusa then, where they can deal with him?"

"The shinobi there say they don't want him, sir…The way treason is punished over there is by death, and since he did not compromise their security, Tatsuno has kept him here out of a mercy call, but it's doing little good. He has tried to commit suicide three different times."

Sakumo cringed inside. "His…name?"

"Torishima, Kiyoshi. Really, all I ask is if you might talk to him…we've tried everything."

Sakumo nodded. "I'll try my best."

The man in question was young, only twenty-five, with long brown hair tied behind him, and deep, cold, steel-color eyes, as if they were metal itself, unemotional, and unfeeling. The young man looked up again and said, "I thought I was dreaming," in a youthful voice. "Am I? Are you the Shiroi Kiba, for real?"

Sakumo nodded.

"Did you get lost?"

"No."

"Oh," the young man remarked. "I do know it is a big building," he said calmly. "Will you put in a good word for me then?"

"What word would that be?"

"Lethal injection."

Sakumo thought for a moment—"That's two words."

"…Oh. Damn. Would you allow me the excess?"

"You don't have to die. I'm sure there's some way you can get out of here. The warden says you never compromised the allied fight. That must count for something, even if the judges don't accept the scans for conclusive evidence."

"A man's intentions are no longer supposed or sound these days, no matter for good, or not. They want actions. Locked in here all day, I have no chance to prove anything. I am no good. There's nothing to be done for it."

"I don't believe that," said Sakumo. "Not in this case. I could do something. Anything. I could put in that word for you—hope."

"…Do you believe in that?"

He considered. "There is always hope. And there is always pain. We have one, we have the other. Tell me, which way do you want it?"

"Pain…has always been my closest friend. I cannot abandon him now, after all we have suffered together."

"Is that…your answer?"

"Yes."

Sakumo looked down, feeling like a piece of himself were sitting right beside the young man and his misery.

.

Off the eastern wall, a shadow of darkness lowered like a shade, and off the western, a warm orange glow still remained lit on it and the white blinds like a candle, gradually extinguishing. The door was open, which it never was, but on a late Saturday night, Sakumo guessed there was an exception. All the men had gone home early, and only the skeleton crew remained, and not enough of them to fit in the smallest conference room. He leaned against the open door frame for a moment before the Sandaime hokage noticed him. "It seems," Sakumo said quietly once he did, "Whenever I see you lately, you're always pushing papers," he smiled faintly; "I know the feeling now. May I come in?"

"You may," Sarutobi allowed. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"And why must you always assume I want something?" Sakumo said non-abrasively, walking in, and standing calmly with his arms folded over.

"Well, I suppose that's because we never chat anymore."

"How is your two-year-old?"

"Fine," Hizuren said, "And yours?"

"Still cocking his head like a little bit—I finally know where he learned it though," Sakumo smiled. "So it's no big deal. Kakashi…is just a little handful."

"I can imagine," Hizuren smiled. "Please, sit," he gestured, and Sakumo accepted it, and he asked, "Is everything all right with you?"

Hizuren pursed his lips and leaned back in the chair. "Been very good lately," he admitted with a contented sigh. "In all things. Not just in private life. We've had a record set in the number of students the Academy has accepted. Projections might go up again for enrollment…Replacing what we've lost."

"Really," said Sakumo, surprised by the fact, since he rarely paid attention to it anymore.

"Record number of new genin for the year," Sarutobi smiled.

Sakumo smirked sadly; "Did you count me as one of those?"

"No," Hizuren ginned. "Though Danzou had suggested it…Will you stay long, this time…?"

"Yeah…" Sakumo remembered the number he'd given. Over sixteen years of his life, and more now; he'd given all of it, or the better part of it, to Konohagakure. "Which reminds me," he distracted himself from the depression, "There is something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Of course."

Sakumo took a moment to explain the case of Torishima, still being held in the intelligence division, and of the wardens dilemma in that the young man, as he was told, was highly unstable. "He's a drain on resources, if anything. The warden wants something to be done with him."

Sarutobi nodded. "I agree. Tatsuno has call in these matters, but I will have to speak with him. He simply cannot remain here."

"Actually, I have a suggestion."

Hizuren looked expectant.

"We could send him to water country. To start over."

"What?" the hokage leaned forward, surprised.

"Well, he can't go home, and he can't stay here. Just ask Tatsuno if that's…viable, and if Kiyoshi might accept it."

Hizuren's smile curved upward. "Well…it is a suggestion, for sure. I'll mention it to him."

"Thank you."

"No problem. So, how are you liking it back in the intelligence division?"

Sakumo shrugged. "I miss Dalzen all over again. You know they have his picture up in one of the offices," he smiled sadly.

"I heard you were teaching a group of interns about advanced genjutsu."

"About the only part of it I was ever any good at, thanks to him," Sakumo disclaimed.

"Still, it is something…to keep you out of trouble," Hizuren joked lightly.

Sakumo smiled again. "Yes, so it is…"

The last of the orange and red clipped, and receded.

.

Almost three months later, early in February, Sakumo received a visitor, early in the morning, precisely at six-thirty, a.m. It was Jiraiya, come with a two pens in his pocket and a near two-inch think typed stack of paper in his hands, double-sided, bundled by a taut raffia cord—he appeared pale-faced, and clammy, as he passed the bundle over, and once his niisan had it, Jiraiya produced the two cheap pens from his outer pocket and set the atop the bundle, and he spoke quickly, in short sentences: "Make any corrections! Make any corrections you see!" I want to see ink everywhere—on every page!"

Sakumo began laughing—"Jiraiya, it won't need it—"

Jiraiya exclaimed protest in a manic, garbled language; "Just read it! Please! Thank you!" He spun around, and ran off the porch in a frenzy. "Let me know as soon as you have it done!" He called out last.

Sakumo looked down at the staggering, weighty manuscript, and he smiled.

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"Jiraiya-sensei, are you all right?" the young man with the yellow hair asked him.

"Yes—Just…very tired, tonight—er , today, Minato. I was up the _whole_ night."

"Doing what?"

"Just never you mind…"

Minato's first thought was that it involved women, one of his sensei's favorite subjects.

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Five days later, Sakumo went to see his brother late that evening, who, he could sense, was busy being absolutely restless up in his tree house. While he held the giant manuscript in one arm, Sakumo made sure Kakashi was still close to his side, and then he gave a few taps on one of the wooden blocks nailed to the tree.

Jiraiya looked down through the round hold and looked as if he were suddenly going to stop breathing—Sakumo smiled, "Can we come up? Or you come down?"

"Um—yeah!"

"Kakashi, said Sakumo with a smile, "Go on."

The boy had been eying the wooden ladder slats as if they were candy—and his uncle helped him up, and then came Sakumo, who handed over the big stack. "So…?" Jiraiya's face turned white and sweaty again—"What did you think?"

Sakumo gave a visible grin. "A masterpiece," And then he worried for a second Jiraiya might faint, but instead, his younger brother sat on the cot, gently lowering the manuscript to lay there. "No way," Jiraiya answered—"There must have been _something_ that was wrong with it—"

"I found nothing," Sakumo said, keeping an eye on his son, who was exploring the base.

"But—those _pens!_" he burst, "I _wanted_ you to mark until they didn't have any more ink, so you would have had to use three, or four more pens…at least _six!"_

"Jiraiya," Sakumo reinforced with a visibly warm smile, "It was great. And it was simple. I'm proud...and still astonished that you can write that well. Honestly—it's wonderful!"

"But...how did you like him—and the story? Was it cohesive? I didn't chop it up too bad, did I…?"

Sakumo smiled again, and he bent over and took a hold of the back of his son's shirt, so as to lead him away from looking down through the hole, as he was teetering so close to it curiously. "The hero…was really good," Sakumo said. "He wasn't perfect, but he learned, throughout the story."

"Meaning…he was _bad_, at the beginning, _written_ bad and—"

"No, No…!" Sakumo said, sitting down on the floor, and suddenly a purple vest caught Kakashi's attention hanging on the back of the cot's frame, as if it were secretly shielding dust bunnies or monsters. Fearlessly, he walked under it, like it were a tent. "As I'm trying to tell you, I found nothing wrong with it!"

"You found a comma—how many more were you going to mark up—was my punctuation that bad?"

Sakumo rolled his eyes and craned his head back, "If you're going to keep talking like this, I'm going to leave."

"No—!" Jiraiya exclaimed, "It's just…two years. I've been writing this—two long years—all those late nights, the dreams, the _day_-dreams…" Jiraiya let out a frustrated, artistic cry. "I just want to know it's half as good as something already sitting in the bookstore."

"Well…it is."

"Ok then."

Sakumo grinned. "Your mother is going to tackle you with pride—have you told her about all this?"

"No—not a word. It'll all be a surprise…if I can ever get it published."

"You will," Sakumo smiled. "Because I will buy a copy. You're mother…will buy a few copies—and plus your friends, even Hizuren will want to read it…"

"That's the other part though," Jiraiya cringed slightly. "I wrote this story for me. I don't know how other people would react to it—should I have a pseudonym, you think?"

"Just Jiraiya, I'm sure, would be fine," Sakumo smiled warmly.

"Kano Jiraiya? Kano-_Hatake_ Jiraiya? They'll think three people wrote it!" Jiraiya smiled. "Oh…maybe you're right…I couldn't think of a mysterious name anyway. I've already got ideas for another book I want to do, but I think this one…took the most out of me, you know? I'll always love it, since it was my first attempt at something bigger than…me," he laughed, "I really learned a lot, writing it. Me and Naruto have gone through a lot together."

"I got the feeling," Sakumo smiled, glancing at the big stack of pages, thinking of all his otouto had written.

"Thanks—for reading—I really wanted you to read it first."

"I consider it privilege. It's nothing. I'll look forward to reading it again—in hardcover."

Jiraiya rolled his eyes and sweat some more. "Ha ha," he laughed nervously. "Thanks…a lot. I appreciate it."

"Well—Kakashi—Put that down…" is young boy had found the silver pen knife in the pocket. Jiraiya looked over the side and took it from him. Kakashi scurried back to his father, and Sakumo held him in a tight hug, close to his chest—Jiraiya looked down and smiled, "Has he learned any new jutsu?"

"No, thank God. He's forgotten how to do the _bushin_ jutsu, so he just runs around crinkling stuff again…I don't even know why I keep an iron anymore…"

Jiraiya grinned. "How's he going to learn not to stick his finger in an outlet?"

Sakumo wearily shook his head, "I have most of them blocked…I don't know…he's quite the handful…"

"Too much for the Shiroi Kiba?"

Sakumo smiled. "Oh—" He realized after a moment, "That reminds me…I have to leave on a mission, in a couple days—on my birthday, actually, and so I asked your mother if she might watch him for me—I must go on this, and they're thinking it'll be about four weeks, I'm away."

"Oh…a whole month?"

Sakumo nodded. "If you could volunteer to watch him for a few days, so she doesn't have to, I'd be really grateful."

"Sure—I'd love to."

"Thank you."

"Boy—that sucks though…to have to leave on your birthday?"

Sakumo smiled, "I don't mind. It's just another mission…"

.

The night before he left, she went to see him, with a rectangle box in her hand, wrapped only with a sheer blue ribbon, tied at the top. "Hello," she smiled warmly, and he let her in.

"Hello," he said, wondering why she'd come.

She set the box down on the small table and sat down.

"Did you want to take him now?"

"Oh no," she smiled, "I just wanted to give you this, it _is_ your birthday tomorrow," Reluctantly, he sat in a chair near her and she said, "Since you're going to continue being shinobi, I thought I'd give it to you. Go ahead. Open it."

"Thank you," Sakumo untied the ribbon and lifted off the top, and found the cool black metal handle sheathed in the grey cover. Carefully he lifted it out, and looked more closely at it—he lifted the hit out a ways and saw the faded mark; "I've…I've seen one of these before," he said quietly. "Off a taki jounin—they're very rare—only made in Waterfall."

"I picked it up some time ago; I'm afraid it didn't come with the original sheath. The owner said it was lost."

"It's beautiful. Thank you. Where did you ever find it?"

"An auction," she smiled, "Rion is taking me to another one in two weeks. It's out of town, but he says it's worth it. It's quite near Midori, actually, just north of there."

"Shiga?" Sakumo named.

"Yes."

He looked down again at the blade; it was quite heavy, in his hands. The hilt held most of it. "Thank you," he said again.

"Stay safe tomorrow," Keiko said, "We want you to come back to us."

He nodded. "Count on it. I…" he smiled in spite of himself, "I do like being a father. At first, after she died…I wanted him to grow up fast, so I could continue going on the missions, but now…I wish he might stay this little forever. And…I sort of realized something else, lately, too…" He said and touched his forehead anxiously. "My father didn't want me to be a shinobi, either," he shook his head with an ironic, sorrowful smile. "I think I have turned into him."

"You don't want Kakashi to follow you?" Kano asked.

He took a deep breath and shook his head again. "I…could teach him to defend himself, but no more than that," he glanced at her earnestly. "Lord knows you'd have to defend yourself if you're any son of mine…But as far as missions and shinobi duties…it would be far too dangerous for him, I don't care if he's even stronger than I am—I never want him in harm's way."

"Well…" she said softly after a while, "There's still plenty of time to decide all that."

He nodded, and sighed.

Still, Kano smiled. "Don't worry about it. He's in good hands for now."

"Thank you."

"I mean _you_, just as much as you might mean me, or Jiraiya."

He looked at her, but couldn't say anything. Slowly, she stood, "Well. I will see you tomorrow morning then."

"Oh—yes," he rose to meet her, setting the blade down carefully on the table. "Thank you again, so much."

After a brief pause, she hugged him, "You're welcome. Just take care."

"I will."

He showed her out and watched her go until she was out of sight. Sakumo went back inside, and checked to be sure his young son was fast asleep. He was, and Sakumo stayed up a little while more, looking over the dusty picture of his wife holding the ten month old happily over at his step-mother's, and remembering, to slow down. He wiped the glass clean before he turned off the lights.

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	43. Magnolia Wind

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 43  
_**Magnolia Wind**_

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Over a year later, some time early in April, the three year old scurried out of his room and ran briskly across the house to the north end while the wind and rain outside beat their fury against the little wooden house. The young boy felt some instant warm relief flooding his soul with security, looking on at the soft yellow glow; his father's light was still on, much like a lighthouse in the midst of the raging, dark sea. Kakashi poked his head in, and his father looked up. "Thought you were asleep," he said with a faint smile, looking back down. Kakashi walked in, clutching the other saved one from the noise and wind, a small stuffed brown bear. "The wind is too loud," the child squeaked, "It scared me."

"Scared you?" Sakumo looked up again. "I'm sorry."

Kakashi took some small steps forward on his bare feet, maneuvering around the opening crack without nudging the door in the least. Both his shirt and pants were blue, but the bear wore nothing but his brown and fuzzy fur—"Come on," Sakumo invited, and Kakashi instantly wrapped himself right by his father's side, "What is that?" the young boy asked after a moment.

"A to-do list," his father answered. "I've got to work on the garden tomorrow with my days off."

"Oh. Are you…gonna grow grass?"

Half of Sakumo's smile curved, and the other dropped, "Is that what Kosaka-san said?"

Kakashi shrugged.

Sakumo sighed. "I don't know. Looks pretty bad, doesn't it, with all the weeds and things that have taken over."

Again, his young boy shrugged.

"What do you think I should do?"

"Mfph," he shrugged, trying to read more of what was on his father's list. "What's that?" He asked, when he recognized his own name.

"Oh, this?" Sakumo pointed. "Well—" Just then, a sudden gust of wind screeched outside, moving the bottom gutter tracks—Sakumo guessed it dislodged the bottom drain of one of them—if it hadn't already, and rolled it around against the house. "It's all right. This was…for school. How would you like to go to preschool for half a day?"

Kakashi grumbled and clung to his father's shirt. He liked the idea less than the wind raging outside like a mad banshee. "Teddy doesn't want to go to."

Sakumo smiled. "He doesn't? Oh. Well that's too bad. I didn't have much schooling either. But…I wanted you to be an exception."

"I don't want to be…a e-ception."

"I was thinking…"

"What?"

"Well I was considering…the Academy, in the village."

Kakashi straightened, "Really?"

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

Kakashi shrugged.

Sakumo eyed the boy curiously.

"Can I—can I go?"

"Well, maybe…" Sakumo said, looking down the rest of his list, made up next by his duties still to the intelligence ward—there was a scan going to be done tomorrow afternoon, and he was going to be there.

"I want to teach Teddy _jut-su_."

Sakumo made a mental note to see Jiraiya. "But you don't know any."

"I know," Kakashi snuggled closer again, and forgot about the list as his ears took notice of the howling wind and rain again. Hitting against the glass and porch in powerful drops and slaps of noise, the rain seemed a downpour in a massive swirl of angry cyclone. The house creaked, and the bedroom sounded every noise blowing and hissing outside. "Daddy, is the house safe?"

He nodded calmly. "Don't worry. It's fine. This house has stood through just as bad."

"How old is it?"

"Hm…wow…now that's a good question," he said genuinely. "A long time," he answered simply.

"How long?" the boy wondered.

"I don't know…seventy years? Maybe eighty, or more. I don't know."

Kakashi curled up tighter. His hands grew clammy as his fears played tricks on him, amplifying the strange hisses and howls. He clutched Teddy with a firmer grip, the way a child does, and he asked, "Can I have a story?"

"Does Teddy want one too?"

Kakashi nodded his head up and down.

"Well, all right then…that's two votes. What do you want to hear?"

"Um…" The young boy snuggled against his father and laid his head down as Sakumo set aside the list. "A happy story."

"A happy one? Ah hell," Sakumo grinned. "Fresh out of those."

"Oh…" He said softly, in fresh disappointment. Sakumo tried to think of something else as his young son eyed the room at all angles he had in view. He noticed a picture that hung near the small window on the north side. It was of his father in uniform with a dark haired woman in white. "Daddy, is that grandma?" he asked curiously.

"Hm?" Sakumo finally noticed what he was referring to. "That?"

Kakashi nodded.

"No—that's your mother."

"Oh…Where is she?"

And even though he knew this question would come, he was totally unprepared for it. It happened so fast—he barely had time to think—"Heaven, Kakashi. It's…well it's in the sky."

"Is it far?"

"I don't know."

"Oh. Can she come here?"

Sakumo swallowed hard, "How about this, I _have_ thought of a story. And now that I think of it… it does remind me a little of your mother, and the wind."

"Really? Is it…happy?"

Sakumo nodded, "Sort of. It's an old Suna legend, you know, the land of wind and sand, and of the prairies, on the southeastern side. I heard it back during the war, near the beginning of it. This was a very long time ago, when the land was uninhabited, meaning, there were no people yet. There were only stark brown grasses and grey shrubs, green weeds; there was nothing bright or cheerful, no flowers. The land began to say to itself, that deep within it's heart, it's spirit, it had every shade of flower. Blue flowers…like the sky above, yellow and orange ones like the sun, pink like sunrises, and reds like sunsets, and even white, like the snows of the north. The land had none of these to show on her robe until a small, and sweet pink flower heard the land's distress and said, 'Do not be sad, I will go upon your robe and make it pretty.' So the little flower came up from the heart deep within the land to beautify it…but an old, angry Wind demon saw her, and he howled, 'I cannot have that pretty little flower on _my_ playground.'

"He came after her, roaring and shouting, and blew away her life, but her little spirit returned to the heart within the great land. Soon other flowers gained courage and went forth, one after another, but the old Wind demon destroyed them as well. And their sad spirits returned home. But the prairie rose offered to go once more, and the land allowed her, 'You are too lovely,' the land said, 'And your breath so fragrant, the Wind demon should be charmed by you, surely he must let you live. Surely he must let you stay on the prairie. Oh, I hope.'

"So… the prairie rose made the long journey up, through the dark ground, and came out on the dull prairie. The Wind demon saw her, and he rushed towards her, shouting…'She is pretty, but she cannot stay on my playground, I must blow out her life…' And he rushed onward—" Kakashi shivered beside him—"But as he came closer, he caught the fragrance of the little flower. 'Oh, how sweet,' he began to say to himself. 'I do not have it in my heart to blow out the life of such a fair maiden with so sweet a scent. She must stay up here with me…And I must make my voice gentle, and I should sing sweet songs. I should not frighten her away, with all my awful noise…'

"So the Wind demon changed from that day on. He was quieter, and sent gentler winds over the sparse grasses, and he hummed softer songs, and he was no longer a demon.

"The other flowers sprang up from the heart of the land all over, giving the land at last, a colorful robe. The old Wind came to love all the little blossoms growing among the grass, and so the robe of the land was made this way, because of the courage, of the little prairie rose.

"But…" Sakumo finally smiled, "Sometimes this old Wind forgets his softer songs and becomes loud and noisy. But…his howling never lasts long. And it is said, that he never harms a person who wears the color of the little rose…"

"There," he resumed after a moment—"How was that?"

Kakashi nodded his head up and down in approval. "Will he stop soon…?"

Sakumo smiled. "Eventually. Just give it some time…You ready to get back into bed yet…?"

Kakashi shook his head instantly with a passion.

"Hey…!" Sakumo exclaimed as the boy dug himself into his left side. But his face broke into a looser smile. "Silly goose…You can stay. For a little while."

.

"Rion—what are you doing?" she asked him while they were in bed—"You're grinning every ten seconds, you're making me nuts—I can't concentrate."

"Yes, your precious medical newsletter," he rolled his eyes and wrote down the rest of his lengthy sentence.

"Seriously! _What_ are you _doing?"_ she peered over, and he pulled the binder away defensively.

"I'm writing my memoirs," he said.

After a pause, she started laughing—"What? But I thought you said…Oh…well I guess you didn't say you _weren't_ joking…Still…do you actually _have_ any writing ability?"

"Hey, I'm getting better…After the first…five drafts or so…"

"I thought you said if you'd write anything, it'd be an essay."

"Well…this still is…sort of…"

She grinned at him.

"I'm still writing about Kusa way back when, in the first war. I'm leaving out my broken heart though."

"Oh…so it's not really a memoir…"

"No…I just figure too much pathos detracts from the believability."

"Oh…" she said quietly. "It was…quite a war…" She said, remembering all the days constantly trying to keep track of Dalzen and Takato while she worked frantically in the med stations twenty-four hours at a time. "It was supposed to end all wars, that one was," she said quietly.

"I'm just focusing on the conditions," he said. "In lieu of all I've seen—you know, for posterity."

"You don't have posterity."

"Oh," he said as if he hadn't known it beforehand. "Why, would you offer to fix that for me? You're so sweet."

She nudged him hard on the arm and raised her pamphlet again.

He started grinning again; she could feel it like a touch of warm sunshine on the side of her face.

.

He could feel something wasn't right. A four man cell of assassin nin, he thought, at worst. It was the only conclusion he could come to after being left alone so long. The wind had actually damaged the east end of the fence line of the garden, throwing the pickets into the hedges between plots. He was cleaning up the mess while his son was playing ninja within view with his old headband and an invisible kunai Kakashi was waving about like a pint-sized novice. Jiraiya was a good influence, really. Twenty minutes later, Sakumo had collected the boards in the shed and he knew he had to leave soon, and find his younger brother to watch his son for an hour or two. But he kept waiting, acting as if he weren't paying attention to anything but his work and his son, confirming slowly just what he was sensing. He had enough paranoia already without troubling himself over a false alarm. Finally, he turned around, and felt ready at the first moment for a clone jutsu, and he led his son back up the lawn, openly sensing the area around him: at least three of them, hiding across the forest behind the creek on the west side. Maybe one more hiding, and watching, from the eastern forest, opposite the empty paddock.

Sakumo executed the jutsu, one of him stayed with his son, and his real self jumped and met the three as they leapt from the forest like dark black arrows, in a tail of haze and grey. Sakumo met them at full strength, but the three of them were well trained, combining their offensives just like ought to. "Do not move," he said to his son sternly as he thought another ten jutsu ahead, and planned his hopeful victory—he succeeded in disabling two of them, leaving the one, and the one still hidden on the east side, which Sakumo finally guessed he was coming out, just when he did, feeling his son in great danger as cue. Sakumo appeared henceforth with a speed even he didn't know he was capable, performing a substitution with it no less as his real form came back around and finally caught the third man, in a quick dose of white lightning—Sakumo ran back just as fast when his substitution shorted out, but to his surprise, he wasn't quick enough before he was knocked backward in the gut by a simple kick—Sakumo hit the corner beam off the porch, and with his weight and the force of the throw, it fractured. The wind, his breath left him immediately; he felt to the ground, catching himself numbly on his hands and knees, leaving Kakashi out in the open, and unprotected. _Run_, he looked up and mouthed, but Kakashi didn't see him, as he was backing away from the ninja, staring transfixed at him—_No_, thought Sakumo, and staggered up without breath, his body swayed dizzily, but he vanished, in order to put himself between the man and his son, and received a glancing blow as he picked up his son and ran for it—disappearing some twenty yards back before he could successfully grab for air again and recover properly from the hit. And just as he did, the ninja was on him, and Sakumo was finally ready for it with a strong barrier jutsu in defense of a meaningless fire attack: he was being forced now to spend chakra, but only until he concreted the stratagem in his mind to end this attack.

Since the fight was far too fast-paced, he could not use a summoning. Instead, Sakumo played a fine line with substitution, speed, and raw power. Power unlike anything his young son could even begin to fathom. Sakumo returned taijutsu with taijutsu, since then ninja had been so effective and keen on using it. The leaf ninja drew on the distant training memories with his sensei of fighting a man who had knives, and you had none—Sakumo was saving the jackknife until the end. And till the end it took, with the jackknife stabbed through the enemy's back, on the left hand side.

Sakumo managed to keep his balance as the man fell, and his young son came running toward him. "No…" his father said as the young boy called his name. "Just stay back, a ways," Sakumo directed as his hand reached around his side. He folded the knife with one hand and stayed back, and knelt down, to summon his red hunter.

Almost half an hour later, he was in the village, with the incident reported, the men unconscious (and one dead) and in custody, and a young genin escort to point him toward the hospital where he caught Tsunade's amber brown eye in the main lobby.

"It's just a scratch," he disclaimed after she got him (and his son who followed) into an empty room off the first hall on the south end.

She gave an exasperated, disapproving grunt when he pulled up the side of his shirt, and she saw the wound, bleeding in steady stream. Quickly she applied healing chakra to it, and he turned his head away and winced. "It's deep," she remarked. She'd call him crazy if he weren't half so important. He was a shinobi again after all. But Sakumo certainly wouldn't have scolded her for it either. He was never that way, and yet she still continued biting her tongue. "Oh," he said, indifferently, as if he didn't care.

Tsunade was almost infuriated—"So what happened?"

At first, Sakumo did not speak, and then, glancing down to see his three year old, he said quietly to her, "I was…jumped, by four assassin nin."

"What…?" Her eyes widened, "Outside the village?"

"Yes—" he controlled his anger where it rose, and choked it off effectively. "—Outside the village."

"Did you get them?"

"Yes—" Sakumo shut his eyes as she finished. "—I got them. They're in custody."

"It's going to need stitches," she informed, fishing for a med kit, feeling a swell of pity for him.

"Oh, don't bother…" He saw Tsunade glance at him sharply, like a kunai blade, when it was pointed right for you, and he had nowhere to go. "Er—what? One stitch, or two?" he corrected.

"Three. I told you, it's too deep to heal on it's own."

"Yes ma'am…" he backed down obediently.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed a large needle, first, to numb it.

"Hate that part," he commented dryly.

"Most people do," Tsunade inspected the wound further, and swabbed it once with a cloth and gave him three small stitches. Once she finished, she asked him to apply some light pressure to it while she wiped away the dried blood off his skin with a slightly damp cloth. The thought crossed her mind how she had not treated him in this way since the war. He hadn't much changed—except for the addition of the three year old walking around with him like a miniature appendage. After that, she fetched the tape bandages and wraps, and got him all patched up again. The graze on his shoulder accepted chakra healing and a patch only, and needed nothing else. While little Kakashi, sitting calmly in the corner, had not a scratch on him, nor speck of blood. "Thank you, miss Tsunade," Sakumo slid off the bed gingerly, and his young boy rose.

Tsunade was wiping her hands on a towel and she started at him in a mixture of frustration and bewilderment, "I can't believe you, sometimes," she muttered freely.

"I'm sorry," he rejoined with a small crooked smile in his eyes, and she rolled her own brown eyes once again. "But thank you," he said again.

"If you dare pull out your stitches, call somebody else," she said after him.

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"All right," he said, the next afternoon, "You're going to learn everything I know. One step, at a time."

Kakashi's face brightened.

"It's either that, or move…and I'm not moving," he said aloud to himself. "So. Today's lesson…"

"Wait! Teddy! Lemmie get Teddy!"

"Kakashi, I'm afraid this training can only apply to you."

"Oh…"

"So. Please listen closely…"

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Together, they set the fracture, and Tsunade turned to get the wraps, and Kano instinctively turned around for the other side until Kawazu stopped her and said helpfully, "I've got this. The older woman stopped in her tracks, slowly becoming white-faced. "Go and sit, Keiko," he said . Coolly, after a pause, she did as he said, but instead, she just stood out in hall on her own, and waited for him to finish with the patient. Kano was collecting the outrage inside herself more calmly than she was once used to, and focused all of it into one, short, precise statement as soon has he came out five minutes later. "How _dare_ you!" she said, "_Never_ do that again!"

"…What?" the man said innocently; he walked down the hall a ways lest the patient and his other top nurse heard his lead nurse's complaints; he hadn't known her to do so in years.

"Don't you what what me. We've known each other far too long, and apparently you must think me so as to embarrass me like that, how dare you, do you think I am _infirm?_"

"Oh—no—" the lead doctor of the hospital stuttered, "Yes I _have_ known you too long, please I didn't mean you were incapable."

"Yes you did!" Admit it!"

Old Kawazu said nothing.

"You've been pestering me to go back on part time, and you've even mentioned _retirement_ to me last week—I'd kick you right now if I could, but I might break something myself!"

"Keiko-san, please…"

She yielded.

"I didn't mean what I said, I was only considering…your welfare."

"My…" Kano shook her head, "I will let you know when I've had enough," she said calmly. "Just please, do not ever do that to me again. I know where I stand. Yes, I used to push myself quite a lot in my youth, but not anymore. That was a very long time ago. I am well aware of my age and limitations, Kawazu, just as you know yours."

Slowly, he nodded. "Fine. I'm sorry. I just thought I was trying to be helpful."

She smiled. "Well, be helpful back on the first floor. I can handle myself with higher numbers up here. Trust me."

"Yes ma'am," he smiled congenially.

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"Rion…" she said out of the blue night, "Do you think I'm old?"

He looked up from the pages he'd bound together on the table and laughed, then set his face to stone. "…What?"

"You heard what I said."

"…Do you really want me to answer that dangerous question?"

She shrugged. "If you have an answer."

"Ok…I'll tell you. But you asked for it. We are both so ancient, our bones are dust and our metabolism waved goodbye fifty years ago. Ok, maybe forty. Went out with a bang though, which explains why we're so deaf. We are _so_ old, that _nobody_ likes hearing our stories, and that's if they can hear us talk without our wooden dentures." He moved his thumb and all four of his fingers apart to mimic the object.

"…You're depressing, Rion. I don't think writing this novel has been very good for you…"

"It's not a novel, it's a memoir. And according to myself, nobody will read it anyway. Though personally, I find it insightful, witty, and not at all kind to my former birthplace. I am so glad my parents left there when I was eight…I always liked the will of fire better than the will of the morning dew."

She smiled at his humor. "Is it almost done?"

"Almost—I mean yes, it's too late to have a mention…of your former, youthful self."

She frowned.

"But alas! Maybe you're referenced to vaguely at one of the med stations I describe in great, great detail…"

Keiko smiled warmly. "Thank you."

"No problem. It wasn't hard to fit you in," he smiled, looking back down, "It wasn't hard at all. Just hope it's at least a tenth as well-written as what your son can do."

"Anything factual has to be—I think it's great what you're doing."

"Why, thank you," he smiled humbly. "It's too bad though his book didn't sell how he wanted."

"I know," she readily commiserated. "Poor Jiraiya…"

.

"So how's your training going?"

"Great. It's amazing what these new genin don't know," he grinned deviously to himself. "So how's your training going?"

Sullenly, he shrugged. "Kakashi wants to learn too much, too fast."

"He'll be ahead of his class."

"Sometimes I wonder if he can fit in and keep all that power and willfulness in check. I don't want him to grow up and have a superiority complex just because he's my son."

Jiraiya gasped melodramatically, "_Your_ son? Ha! Never!"

"I'm trying to teach him humility. He's taking it well, I guess."

"Sakumo he's _three_. He'll turn out fine."

"But…you don't have any children."

"No, but I have had students. So I know a little of what it's like."

Sakumo nodded. "I suppose," he sighed to himself.

"Sakumo..." Jiraiya smiled, repeating, "He is only three."

"I know!" his older brother exclaimed. "And if it were my choice, he wouldn't be trained at all. I suppose that's all my fault, for the time being," he said self-deprecatingly, still remembering the group of ninja who attacked him—he still had the stitches, and his son still remembered their faces. As did Teddy (even if Teddy had been facing the wall inside the house at the time).

"Do you know who they were sent by?" Jiraiya changed his tone to a gentler one.

"A tsuchi daimyo, on the south side. They wouldn't tell me where, but I have a guess," he said.

"Any reason why?" Jiraiya asked. "Kill his favorite dog or something…?" he said lightly.

Sakumo smiled. "Let's just say, that if I ever renounced Konohagakure, no other nation or village would accept me…Except possibly Kumo, since they can welcome back traitors more easily."

"You have a name that's very kumo-esque, Sa_kumo_tsu."

Sakumo jabbed him lightly on his arm. "Never," he smiled. "Even though I'm sure they wouldn't be able to find me up there in the Gora jungle. Naruto was very brave to use that as a means of escape."

"Really?"

"Of course. And the part where he meets that wise frog near the river?" Sakumo smiled. "It's Kakashi's favorite part."

"_Really?_" said Jiraiya, more astonished.

"It's as if it's a story in itself to him—he loves it. He begs me to read the chapter over and over."

"Wow…" Jiraiya blushed. "Didn't know I had that big a fan…"

"Jiraiya, you will always have a fan," his brother smiled.

"Oh—so I could write whatever I wanted to now, eh?" Jiraiya watched his brother grin, "So what would you most like to read next? Adventure? Horror? _Romance?_"

"Will there be a sequel to Naruto?"

"I don't know…" Jiraiya paused. "I wouldn't be able to think of a title."

"Aw…"

"No, really! I'm so horrible at titles. And they are so important, I know!"

"Or perhaps…you could please my son and come up the 'tales of the toads'."

Jiraiya grinned, "Naw…I couldn't possibly. Maybe when I'm bored, I could think something up. I'm not going to be a children's author, you know. I put my life on the line making _this_ name for myself!"

"Well, you said you had a second book you were working on, it must be done by now…"

"Oh—that…It's the, um…Romance trilogy I've, erm, envisioned."

"Romance?"

"Would you read it?"

They both shared an odd smiled. Sakumo looked up at the dark indigo night over the quiet backyard, "Only if it can beat a story about a quilt."

Jiraiya gasped, and then jabbed his niisan playfully (or not) on the arm. "You won't let me forget that, will _you!"_

His older brother laughed. "You have come so far, Jiraiya, be proud of that."

"Yeah! I know! Thanks!" he smiled. "I know you'd compliment me!"

Sakumo smiled into the night with some inner reserve left over from the day; while sitting next to his brother's strong and commanding presence, he'd meant the compliment in so many ways.

.

The first Monday in September, Sakumo said goodbye, open faced and full of feeling; he straightened his son's clothes one last time as if they had been disheveled by the winds of time and change. "Remember your manners," he said again. Kakashi nodded his head up and down. His father still hung on to his young son's clothes protectively. "Listen to your sensei," he reminded. "And have fun." Kakashi nodded his head again, and the little line of his mouth spread into a smile. Sakumo noticed the other young children in the distance were being let in by a tall, dark-haired woman. "Well…" he said reluctantly, "I'll be waiting right here when you get out, all right?"

"Ok," Kakashi nodded his head, looking unafraid to face his first day of preschool, more than could be said of his father—"All right," he father conceded with a shaky smile. "Go on then," finally, he let go.

Kakashi nodded shortly with a smile, and turned around, and ran to catch up with all the other young children. Sakumo watched him meet the sensei and walk inside. Little did he know, Kakashi pushed up his collar once he was inside. A brown haired girl noticed him, and her eyes widened, never seeing a young boy like him before. Furtively, Kakashi smiled proudly, wanting to be just like his father.

.

The snow was deep, and freshly laid two days before. The leaf ninja had a small window of time, and a guide, a tsuchi man who had secretly served the Allied forces' interest back during the war. Now, he was back in that country again, with two other jounin, one of them was Nakamura, whom Sakumo knew well from that war also. But now, they were heading north into the mountains well over a year later, early in October, geared up for a long and arduous hike through the breezy, biting cold air, tracking a rogue of their own, recently spotted in the area. It wasn't a wonder, either. The group needed Nakamura, a sealing specialist, since the man was experimenting with forbidden jutsu. He'd gone rogue since the end of the war, after witnessing so many men fall dead; he disappeared like the sunset, and went off publishing papers on his techniques under an assumed name, and crossed borders so many times, only now as he seemed to settle down, could he be spotted more easily.

After three days into their trek up the mount, their window was closing again, it had begun to snow once more, quite hard over the pass, and the wind was steady, from the south-west; they were forced to stop only a hundred meters from the short, mid-range plateau, but their guide had not rested yet since he was naturally perceptive of the snow drifts, and he instructed them all to head for the plateau as he knew an avalanche, large or small, was imminent. The plateau had a brace against it on the north side at nearly a ninety-degree angle, that could provide some cover for all four of them, but just as they started again, the entire team could feel the horrid rumble from up above, like Heaven's ground had suddenly quaked, and the white was moving down very, very quickly. Together, they reached the brace in time, and Sakumo took up a position on the right hand side, and initiated a barrier jutsu around them—the other jounin, a freshman, Araki Hisoka, was on the other end, "Get closer," said Sakumo, but the young man could not get the right grasp; foreseeing he would not last much longer with the snow sliding fast all around them, and from above, Sakumo looked at Nakamura firmly, "You stay, and carry on the barrier," he directed simply, and slowly dropped the barrier and Nakamura put up his and the young mans' grasp on the end faltered—he was far too outside and he slipped, and was carried away with the snow—Sakumo leapt after him and managed to get close enough to take hold of his left hand, and Sakumo quickly found another possible brace against the mad white current, and he pulled all his chakra to his other hand, and took hold of the rock. The young man recovered and diverted the better part of his weight and held on, on his own. The cold wind and snow slapped against the captain's eyes, as he could just barely see Nakamura's position in the distance,. "Hold on tight," said Sakumo, "The swell is still coming." But a whiplash of wind suddenly hit Sakumo in the back on his right side from behind, but he hung on, inadvertently twisting his wrist painfully, and he tried to compensate with more chakra on his left hand, and tried suring up his feet, but he felt his grip was loose with water and sweat inside his gloves. In case he should fall, he tried moving back to the left so he could give Araki cover and not hit him if he slipped. While he was moving, a blast of cold wind wrapped around him, first sucking him in like a vacuum, and then blowing him out like balloon, he could hear the pop of the gust, and his grip had no been strong—Sakumo lost control, and his body was torn away from the rock, and the snow and swell carried him down alone, and he fell hard on a piece of open rock, painfully dislocating his left shoulder. It was happening so fast then—the icy wind thundered in his ears for a brief split-second, until the swell continued to send him back down again popping his shoulder back in place has he turned again, losing all control at incredibly fast thoughtless pace. Sakumo could feel the horrid impact of hitting against the center of his back one more time, and back of his head had come down hard, and white snow covered him.

Six days later, he reached Konohagakure, unconscious, since the snowy night. Thanks to Hizuren, both Keiko and Jiraiya knew what had occurred, but did not know at what time Sakumo would make it there. It was raining at four o'clock in Konohagakure before Kawazu interrupted her up on the third floor, "Hello, Keiko," he knocked gently, and before she got that little curious look in her eye, he said, "Somebody has finally arrived."

Immediately, she let her nurse take over, and she stood outside in the hallway with him. "I'm free to tell you everything?" he asked.

"Heaven sakes! Is he all right? Will he live?"

"Yes, he should live—The doctors out there said he was comatose two separate times. I'm sorry," He watched her draw a hand up to her chin and the other over her arm. "They're prepping for treatment right now. Matsuo is directing. I'm sure if he doesn't slip into another coma before the end of it, he will make a gradual recovery, like anyone else would…"

"Oh..." she sounded in shock, staring at the clean tile floor. "Oh…" she exhibited her worry with the tightness of her brow; "He hit his head hard, then…Dear Lord…" she finally realized, "Will he have memory loss?" Though, she already knew the answer.

"Most likely the usual amnesia," Kawazu offered soberly.

"…Or worse," she inserted uneasily. "Oh…dear…Lord…" she sound gravely.

Kawazu wisely left out the other details of the fall. "Well, carry on…" he said, looking up to her.

Her smile was flat. She nodded.

At five-thirty, the doctors were finishing their work, and Jiraiya walked in to the hospital with Sakumo's little five year old genius of a pipsqueak, in from the light, dreary rain. Jiraiya looked down and said, "I'm going to find my mom and see what's going on, so just sit down and stay here, ok?"

Kakashi nodded his head obediently, and the sage disappeared down the hall on the left to the twist of stairs, and he leapt nearly three at a time. The young boy waited for a moment before he decided which sofa to take up before one of the doctors recognized him immediately; the hair and mask spoke volumes. He went over and asked if the young man came alone, but Sakumo's son shook his head and said, "Jiraiya-sama just went off, sir."

"Ji—_Jiraiya-sama_ came with you?"

Kakashi nodded.

"Well, your father, arrived here today…"

"Is he all right?"

"Well, he's…sleeping…" which was a very accurate term. He guided the young man down the hall on the first floor. Toward the end, near the stairs Jiraiya had taken, the doctor let the young boy into the room where two nurses, a young man and a woman were monitoring his condition. Kakashi got up on a chair on his own, and the doctor told him, "Talk to him, let him know you're here," he nodded to the woman, touching his forehead wearily, "I'll be in the mess hall…"

Kakashi bit his lip; his father's face was very pale, and lips were blistered and pink. He could see bandages starting at the cuff of his neck, and gone downward, underneath the blanket; all sorts of clear tubes went into his arms, and Kakashi asked the first and most important question to him, "When will he wake up?"

"We don't know," the woman answered truthfully. "With luck, it could be hours, or another day yet."

"Oh…" Kakashi said, still staring at his father. There was absolutely no trace of moment on his face at all, his skin was white and still, his eyes were closed, and the line of his mouth unmoving. His father had only left almost eleven days ago.

"It's all right," the nurse said, and smiled at the shiroi kiba's boy. "You can say hello."

"Can he hear me?"

"Well...we don't know that for sure either, but you might as well. I've heard it helps."

"Oh…ok…um…Hi, dad…" Kakashi said slowly, feeling awkward. Before he could think what to say next, a frantic sage and sanin burst in and moaned, "I can't believe it! I walked _right_ by _him!"_

"Jiraiya, be quiet," his mother said calmly as she walked in after him, "How did it go?" she asked the nurses. The two nodded, and the man spoke up, "Well as could be. We just have to wait now for something to change."

Kakashi could feel the giant toad sage breathing down his shoulder, so he tried to scoot over, ducking his head awkwardly. He had already had enough of the big man's presence already without wanting more. "Will he be ok?" Jiraiya asked.

"Well…" the woman said, "Yes. Hopefully."

Jiraiya gave a short groan, "His face looks so _pale_."

"You know…Jiraiya-sama," the male nurse looked up bravely, noticing Kakashi's discomfort. "Only _family_ is allowed in right now."

"The ties of shinobi bind us all into family!" Jiraiya instantly burst and looked around for camaraderie.

"Well…" Kano appeased, "Perhaps, Jiraiya, you might come down in the cafeteria with me. I saw Matsuo go in there just a minute ago, he could answer all your questions—Kakashi are you hungry?"

The young boy shook his head, staring at Sakumo.

"Well, let's leave the boy alone then…" Jiraiya looked both surprised and indignant at his mother. "We can come by a little later," she said with a strong look in her eyes.

With a short huff, Jiraiya conceded, and the two walked out.

Feeling free again in his own personal space, Kakashi looked up at all the instruments silently, only half supposing what each really recorded. He looked down at his father again, chewing his own dry lips beneath his mask. He was speechless, in the way it was difficult for him to believe it was really his father lying there so motionless and pale, and not somebody else's father. Kakashi didn't know what to say, even though he got a lot of good suggestions that evening.

.

But despite all the attention, Sakumo fell into a final coma, lasting three days, and at the end of that painful seventy-two hours, he was finally conscious, and awake. The night nurse came in, and noticed him blinking his eyes, at first believing it was a comatose action, but the whole of his brow furrowed and he winced like he were in pain, and she went to him, "Sir? Are you awake?" She looked up and the electrocardiogram was confirming it; his heart rate was up considerably, and she smiled, checking his wrist, and watching his gaze transfer, and register his own condition, "Hello, it's all right," Sakumo's eyes closed temporarily due to his pain. "It's all right," she said again, "You had a little bump on the head."

Suddenly, all the throbbing and the pressure began to abate numbly, and he could see the room better, and then he noticed her, standing quite near, the night nurse, for the room was very dark. Once he could see more clearly, she was a young woman with auburn color hair, like an orange amber. Her eyes were dark; he could see her plainly without a vice to wrap his mind painfully; "Where?" he mouthed.

"Konohagakure, sir. In the hospital."

As the wheels began turning again, so to speak, he had absolutely no memory of what had brought him there. The nurse left sometime after seven o'clock, and immediately after that time, he could feel the tight vice of pain in his head, and it only abated when he slept, or precious few seconds at a time, in between doctor visits, and in between thoughts. To his own abnormal feeling of shock, he could barely register that it was indeed Keiko-san whom he saw that morning; he simply could not remember she was that old, not that she looked it, and seeing his son in the afternoon was far, far worse and bittersweet. The boy was five, instead of one, or two, or three, and he was an official genin with Konohagakure. He felt like an old man waking up in an old attic with the musty smells, and the times and technology outside far beyond his years ever to understand; he nearly cried. Sakumo knew he would have opposed the idea, and yet he could not remember that, nor what he might have gotten him for his birthday, which was only a month ago. _You're five_, thought Sakumo disbelieving, causing his head to hurt all the more. The boy was no infant he seemed to remember so clearly. And there was Jiraiya, who would turn twenty-nine in less than a month, and Sakumo couldn't believe that, either, feeling he should still be at least ten years younger. "Do you—do you remember my book?"

"Your—your book…?" Sakumo said uneasily.

"Yeah—the one I wrote about Naruto…" Jiraiya watched in some slight self-contained horror when his brother's confused face wasn't piecing the simple concept, "'Tales of a Gutsy Shinobi'…?"

Sakumo didn't even know what he was referring to.

"Maybe that's enough excitement for one day…" Kano eyed her son with a 'don't push it' look. Jiraiya frowned at her, helplessly. "It will all come back on it's own," she said to Sakumo uneasily. "Don't worry about it," she placed a warm hand on his arm. "We're just very happy you're back," her smile returned.

"Yeah!" chorused Jiraiya, looking at his older brother in earnest next to Kakashi, "Don't do that again!"

"I don't even know…what the hell…I did."

Jiraiya smiled at his brother. "You hit your head."

"Oh…" murmured Sakumo, shutting his eyes, "Yes, so they've told me…" he remembered devastatingly.

"So you still don't remem—"

"Jiraiya," Kano cleared her throat, "You were going to take Kakashi and me home…?"

"In a minute."

"Jiraiya, he needs rest now," she said gently as she could.

Sakumo blinked his eyes open again, and looked at his son, who'd crawled up on the bed to sit and watch. It took effort and balance, but Sakumo extended his left arm, perhaps the only part of him that wasn't tender, and he grasped for his son's little hand; Kakashi took it, and he smiled. Sakumo forgot for a moment how their conversation had begun, if Kakashi had talked about his day, or if Jiraiya had interrupted him midway, he not tell. So Sakumo took a good look at his son, and forced himself to say, "You're growing up, so fast…have I ever told you that, lately…?"

Kakashi grinned, "Yes," he nodded, his dark eyes sparkled. His eyes were like Yoshiko's.

"I don't like it," Sakumo announced, half of his smile curved upward, through a tightening pressure in his head, causing him to wince, "I wish you could stay this way, always."

"Aw, but dad, I want to be just like you!" Sakumo received a sudden chill from those enthusiastic words; forcibly, he dropped his smile gradually in increments. "I want you to get better really fast," Kakashi said, sharing his uncle's eagerness, "So you can teach me that math you were showing me."

"Math? Math…oh God," Sakumo murmured, a faint smile returning to his lips, "Something beyond…your years?"

Kakashi grinned, "You remember!"

Sakumo's smile turned almost serpentine as the pain sought to control him. It seemed the pain of trying to remember was too great, so he stopped and tried to shut it down, but it was already too late. "Are you all right?" He heard Keiko say at a distance when he shut his eyes. She had probably said it at least twice without his noticing. Sakumo couldn't very well respond to her save the expense of pain and the more costly expense of speech. "Well, it's late," he heard her finish quietly. "Come on boys, it's better that he gets rest now."

"Daddy, I love you. I'm glad you're awake."

Sakumo opened his eyes, and felt his son's touch before their hands finally parted. "Love you more," Sakumo murmured, and heard all three leave, since he could move his head for the life of him.

Sometime at one o'clock in the morning, he woke up cold, watching the night's cool blue shadows move in the empty, dark room. He heard the night nurse come in some few minutes later to check on him. It was the woman he'd seen before, with the pretty-color hair, and why he could remember her so well, he did not know, nor did he care to examine this selective amnesia lest his head began throbbing unbearably again. As soon as she entered, the pain, oddly, seemed bearable at that moment, and the pressure abated; he actually turned his head a little in small measure when she came near. "Good morning," she smiled, with a little surprise. She turned on a distant lamp to the low setting, "Couldn't sleep?" she checked all the instruments carefully.

Her eyes were a dark brown. "No," he mumbled, feeling his throat was dry. He watched her check everything else, and she replaced the IV bag above him. "Miss," he asked slowly, "Do you have a calendar?"

"A calendar? Oh…" she realized what he must want it for. "Can you not sleep unless you see one?" she said a moment later.

"No."

"…All right then," she said, and fetched one from another room. He could not attempt to grasp it before him yet, so she held it for him, and turned the months back and forth as he asked. "God," he said, "I can't remember anything."

"What's the last thing you can remember?"

"I don't even know _that_," he said, his mind numb, with the pressure in a tolerable level.

She put the calendar down, and then decided to hang it on the south wall, where he could see it easily without having to turn his head. "There, how's that?"

"Perfect. Thank you," until Sakumo randomly remembered November wasn't far away, and Jiraiya's birthday was in that month. "Wait—how old…am _I?_"

She blinked. "Well…" She didn't know. She came back to the bed and raised a manila folder near the bed side and took a seat in a chair, and she opened it to read the patient profile. Briefly, she considered teasing him and asked him how old he wanted to be, but she was sitting before the shiroi kiba, and she said, "You are thirty nine years old," she said. "Born in February, on the ninth. My birthday is the twelfth," she remarked.

"Really?" he said to all the above.

"Really," she smiled. "Now please try and rest, you've been doing wonderfully."

"Have I…" he mumbled, feeling lightly dizzy with sleep just as she mentioned the idea.

"Yes," she said firmly. "And you'll be that much better each day if you get your rest. You've earned it."

With his head to a manageable level, he felt he really could fall asleep, to the wonderful, sweet sound of her voice. He evened out his breathing, and listened to her presences as she wrote a note with a pen on the page in folder. His eyes stayed closed.

.

Nothing else resurfaced to any significant prevalence in his mind later that day, when he awoke to see again the young doctors, older Matsuo, Keiko, Jiraiya, and his son. Instead, he only provoked something so incredibly sober in Kano that morning when he saw her alone before she checked in to begin her work. He got up the strength to ask, "Have you been working different hours? " He never remembered her coming in so early, at six-thirty. She answered, "Yes; ever since Rion died." And his eyes widened, "Rion…died?"

"…Oh dear," she finally said simply, after a long while, especially considering both he and her son had stood right beside her when she had to say goodbye.

"I'm so sorry," he stuttered and said genuinely, coming to terms with the fact he was bound to make a lot of poor mistakes, and it only worried him as to the status of everyone else. "_When_…?"

"Um…July…fourteenth," she said automatically, unable to forget the day he died. "Of this year. He was seventy-six."

"Oh…I'm so, so sorry…" he would have mentally kicked himself if the pain had not reared up on it's own after the night nurse left and did it for him, and soon after, Keiko left as well.

He groaned in solitude, unable to cope with the sudden loss of so much memory. Though it hurt excruciatingly, he tried to use his son as a basis for some kind of reference; he remembered Yoshiko's death. He could remember—he could picture Kakashi clearest at eleven months old, before she had left, but nothing beyond that. He could remember the war, very well, and all memories buried beneath those hellish years of strife; his love for that sweet dark-haired woman he discovered that day by chance on the bridge in September…Rinsano. Shin. Naoya, Dura, Takato, Dalzen, and his father. But nothing after his young son's first twelve months. What made it worse, was that the doctors said it was both normal, and temporary.

After seven o'clock, he saw one more visitor come in after his trio had just left: his boss. "…Working late?" Sakumo wondered, still in disbelief of Sarutobi's age. Perhaps he was remembering everyone five years younger, or more. But Hizuren smiled, and suddenly, his face did not look so old tired, "You're looking well."

"I feel like heck."

"Nakamura said you were beat up pretty bad."

"Nakamura? He was on my team?"

Sarutobi nodded as he sat in the chair Jiraiya had once occupied, still faintly warm. "Nakamura, our tsuchi contact, Iwasato, and another leaf jounin, Araki Hisoka."

Sakumo had never heard of the last name. "And...they said…I was only gone…ten days?" Hizuren nodded again, and Sakumo fought to contain his continued disbelief and utter frustration. "I sent Orochimaru, to replace you," Hizuren picked up. "Honestly…you look so much better than you did when they brought you here. We're very glad you _survived_. They said the drift took you a long way."

"All in less than…a second?" Sakumo wondered idly.

Hizuren smiled. "And I'm glad it didn't sweep away your sense of humor."

"Oh…!" Sakumo remembered just then, "Did I raise holy heck when my son was made genin?"

The hokage laughed. "You were…beside yourself, I believe. He's quite the talented young man."

Sakumo selfishly moaned. "How has he grown so fast?" he asked himself.

"Because he has had the best sensei in the world."

"I'm almost forty," His eyes stung with tears as he stared at the calendar on the far wall. He could not move his pain-filled and throbbing head, but as Hizuren could readily observe, his conviction was powerful and present, as it always seemed to be, "And I cannot remember his last four birthdays, nor Jiraiya's book, nor Rion's death—I love that boy," he said, "My son. I love him so much more than I can say, and yet I've now missed what I've held—the only thing I have held since…she…died. How is it…this can happen?" his voice cracked. "How is it…I can wake up, some morning…and not…remember…?"

He finished barely above a contorted whisper, and his old friend felt for him. "It will come, in time," Sarutobi said softly.

His head hurt too much—Sakumo could not pursue him further.

He slept some and then silently cried some when he awoke at midnight. A few tears of his self-made pity rolled down his cheeks easily without sobs or hiccups or eyelids locked in anguish, only pain. Until the moment he heard the door open, and footfalls so soft walked in with a clipboard in her hand; he glanced over with his eyes, and saw it was her. The pain in his head lifted like a shade and began to clear somewhat, giving him some modest clairvoyance and the strength again to turn his head a little, and watch her work once more. "Hatake-sama…" she said, noticing the reflective river tracks tears had produced. "…Are you all right?"

He'd worried her, but he smiled. "Fine…" he answered truthfully, beginning to correlate her presence to the sudden absence of the throbbing. "Just…feeling sorry for myself, in general."

"Oh no…" she said so gently on the edge of the bed, he could hardly felt it as if it had been a mouse. But he could smell something stronger now, something he had not picked up before; he could smell a faint waft of vanilla. "Don't feel sorry," she said. "I know it's not my place to talk, but don't feel bad. There have been many other good men like yourself that have had this happen to them."

"I'd like…nothing more, than to hear you speak," he said truthfully. "Your voice, is beautiful."

"Oh…" she said awkwardly, rising back up to do her duty.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean anything. It's just…maybe I am…a little crazy, from all the drugs or something, I don't know. It's just been hard. And every day, it seems to get worse."

"Well to my memory, it's only been two days. You've made exceptional progress. To be able to speak and respond...and have a little humor…? It's very good, Hatake-sama, you're doing well."

"Just Sakumo, please. I tell that to everybody."

She smiled oddly, as she worked.

He still felt nearly pain-free. The pressure inside his head was tolerable. He wondered if it was her, and why. "Have you…always worked nights?"

"Oh, yes…after I received my degree I've been working them. That was…almost eight years ago."

"Eight years? May I ask…how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-eight, sir."

"Twenty-eight…" he thought back gingerly, and found no record, "Where was I at twenty-eight…ha, I don't know…I can't remember…Imagine that."

"Are you hungry?" she interrupted his now self-mock.

"What?"

"Hungry. Can I get you anything? I can lift up the back of your bed, do you want to try? Doctor Matsuo wants to get you healthy quickly."

He considered for a long time, and hesitantly, he said yes.

When she brought him up just past forty-five degrees, he felt as if his head weighed twenty-five pounds. She smiled and brought him water in a small cup, and he wondered why his back was sore, and his right shoulder was so incredibly stiff and painful. "You dislocated it, sometime in your fall," she reminded.

"Oh," he remarked, "That might explain it." The grasp of his left hand began to shake and tremor after he had taken a few sips, and she took it back as he continued to adjust to the height. "Do you like working nights?" he couldn't remember if he'd asked.

"Um—yes, I do, actually."

"Worked a lot of nights, myself, back during the war," he smiled flatly. He glanced over with his eyes and noticed she was about to say something, but she changed her mind. "What year is it?" he asked.

She gave him the date.

"Oh," he said. "Right." The days grid lined on the wall were all blank just like the state of his memory.

"Sir," she finally said after moment's pause, "Tsunade-sama told me you often change the subject in front of her. I wonder, if you might try something to eat."

"She said that…did she?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"You're—" she realized he did not actually forget, but he was teasing her. They each shared an innocent smile in levity.

.

When Kano walked in early the next morning, and let herself in the little room, she immediately saw Sakumo was awake and smiling. She stopped at once, in lieu of the fact she had not seen that smile from him lately, not as Kakashi passed the genin exam earlier in September, and not since the first of that same month, his wedding anniversary. In fact the infection of frowns began that year, ever since his young son had wanted to graduate and be a genin in the first place. Kano had never seen Sakumo happy, and here, she walked in on a smile that was almost so, with some life in those dark eyes and on that handsome face, she swore she saw Coushander for a moment when Sakumo glanced up at her. Kano froze, caught in this conclusion. It was the night nurse sitting with him, the two had been conversing quietly; she hadn't heard them outside the door. The nurse turned away from Sakumo when Kano entered.

"…Hello," Keiko smiled curiously, walking around to the other side, sad that she broke up the happy union, "How… are you feeling this morning…?"

"Better," he answered genuinely.

She noticed both their faces were colored. Kano almost pointed out the fact in Sakumo's case since it was a good thing to see, but she refrained, unwilling to inadvertently embarrass the nurse. The night nurse reached for the clipboard, and rose up off the bed, and acted ready to leave. "I was just walking by," Kano felt obligated to say, "And I had to see you. You're looking so much better."

"He finally found his appetite again," the nurse offered. "At least some of it."

"Did you? Oh Sakumo that's wonderful—I'm so thankful you're doing so well," He looked at her strangely. "I'll never forget you in that coma. I don't ever want to loose anyone to that again."

"Well…" the nurse inserted quietly, "I'll just drop this off, and I'll be right back."

"All right," said Sakumo, since he couldn't nod, and Kano noticed he stared after her all the way until she closed the door behind her, and then he seemed to wince rather painfully; "Are you all right?" Keiko asked.

"Just…my head…" he answered shortly. It had not hurt since the moment she had first walked in, earlier that night, and when she came back, about eight minutes later, Sakumo glanced that a way, and he felt the pain finally become tolerable. It was her. He knew not how, he knew not why, but he knew it. And he smiled. He was thankful for it.

Whatever aura she had, Kano observed interestingly, Sakumo saw it. She wondered if he might genuinely like her. It was about time he found someone else, in her quiet opinion, that could make him smile again like the way it returned to his face just then as he watched her, in all brilliance like the sunrise. Again it reminded her of his father. Coushander could be on a myriad of drugs and feel as tall as the moon: either in stubbornness, or strength.

.

Jiraiya waltzed in at noon, with one of his students, the yellow-haired one the previous Sakumo knew he had talked so much about. But this Sakumo could not readily remember seeing the young man before, let alone recall his name. Jiraiya gladly recounted again, and while he was speaking, Sakumo got the idea to feel for his brother's chakra signature…but, he could not do it. In fact, he winced from the sudden awful pressure of pain in his head and he closed his eyes. It seemed he could not try further, nor was he permitted to.

Later on, Matsuo saw him, probing the usual questions and praises for his patient's recovery and Sakumo casually mentioned the loss of his sense, and the doctor seemed surprised. The doctor recommended a certain chakra healing procedure with a ninety-seven percent success rate, only, as he explained upon Sakumo's asking, the three percent cases never recovered their full potential. Ever. It was high-risk, if it failed. Sakumo took less than a moment to decide, and said no. Matsuo was more surprised, and though Sakumo mourned the lost of that, and his memory, he would not take the chance. "I have a son," he said, "I will not take the chance, I'm sorry. I must be there to protect him, at all cost."

That son came in alone soon after three (shaking off that partner Jiraiya), and crawled up on the bed to see (and wake) his father there still on the bed. Kakashi took joy and comfort his father's face was colored again like his own, and he wondered, straightaway, "Daddy, when are you coming home?" His father only smiled. Kakashi looked around and leaned in closer to whisper, "Uncle Jiraiya _snores_."

"Is he staying with you?"

"At our house—yeah," Kakashi straightened uneasily. His father should have remembered that from the conversation they first had together. The young boy pursed his lips when he thought of his unruly uncle; "He's loud and he's messy. And he makes _me_ do the dishes. _And_ clean the bathroom."

"Oh…" Sakumo tried to empathize. "That's too bad. I promise—I will try and get around soon. My head…is still so sore, I'm sorry."

"Can you…remember your mission yet?"

"No."

"Oh. Well,_ I_ went on a mission today!" the boy paused centrifically so he could hear his father say, "Did you?" and then the young boy told of how he, his teammates, and his sensei found a lost dog on the north end of town. "I looked for all the broken twigs and things, just like you showed me, and I found it, first!"

Sakumo was suddenly reminded of how all his missions, maybe in the entirety of his service, had never once been that simple. "Good. That's good."

"Hey…are you…ok?"

He couldn't sense his boy's chakra, either. It must have been strong, he imagined, if he could pass the genin test. "Yeah," he said quietly, and lied. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, and looked at his five year old, sitting there innocently. "I love you," said Sakumo. "You know that, don't you?"

Kakashi's face curved into a wide, warm smile. He nodded his head.

.

Sakumo did not see her until one, in the morning, where he was tired, after sleeping troubled, but he was eager to see her. She walked in the room five minutes past the hour, and though it took him a few seconds to adjust, the pain muted. "There," he smiled. "It's happened again."

"What?"

"My pain. Whenever you have been in the room, it's gone."

She blinked in surprise.

"It's true."

She pursed her lips, "I'm sure it's just coincidence," she wrote another note in the folder. "The doctors said you didn't want the intensive chakra healing."

"No."

"I don't blame you," she offered her opinion hesitantly. "Sometimes Matsuo thinks he can fix everybody, and there will never be any consequences."

"D'you…know him?"

"Know him?" she turned away, flushing slightly out of embarrassment. "He is my father."

Sakumo's eyes widened for a second, "…Oh!"

"If it can stay with you, sir, in this room, he's a good doctor," she lowered her lilting voice, "but not a father."

"Oh," Sakumo said again. "Miss…" he finally remembered to ask her, "What is your name…?"

"Sayama, Nora. My mother said…it's foreign. I took on my mother's name. She divorced him when I was fourteen, but she died three months later. It was cancer."

"I'm sorry."

The auburn haired girl pushed away an orange lock and stared at the cabinet beside his bed. "Sir…" she said again with reserve, "May I ask—"

"You may, and don't call me 'sir'."

Her short, corrected smile, was a quick one. "Did you…ever meet a person, who thought everything could be solved by money?"

"Yes. I have seen a few like that," he said, remembering Arashi, of the Azurano.

"My father is one such man," she said. "We're all faulted, in more ways than one, but I think…I hate that fault the most. I grew up…with everything. But never the one thing I wanted."

Sakumo smiled faintly, free to think back with her presence near him. "That's almost the opposite of me. We were keeping above the better end of poor, I think, but I never knew my father until I was fifteen…sixteen. And then, it was too late. I lost him. Cancer…Too."

They shared a respectful silence, among other things.

.

He began walking soon, toward the very last of the month, and that was when he finally returned home.

When he walked with his son down the dirt road, and turned to walk up the grass lawn with it's wildflowers, grasses, and weeds, and he looked upon the wooden house, he felt that instead, it was just how his father had left it for him. Everyone else may have changed and grown older, but the house had not. From the moment he stepped up on the porch, he could remember where the old house creaked and split, and every crack and notch upon it's old wooden face. Inside, the house was neat and uncluttered (Kakashi told him the cleanliness was all his handiwork) but undusted. The air seemed thick to him, wafting with precious memories past and present with memories from all spectrums; the joyful and sorrowful, the luminous and glorious revelations and mysteries all throughout each somber decade they showed and refracted off every dust particle shining from the light of the sun through the west side windows. He remembered he usually cleaned the window panes at the beginning of October, every fall and spring, and here, they were already slightly filmed over a bit from the autumnal rains he had no recollection of. The door to his father's old room, the very one he could still remember crying and sobbing in, at sixteen, with a loss of everything he ever knew, stood there, immediately on his left, and the door was open ajar, those old memories swirling around that small room silently where he was drawn, and he walked in a ways, and looked upon them with sad eyes, seeing he'd left it as uncluttered and sparse. The calendar near the window read the current month, and yet it seemed like he'd been away for ages, if not years. He looked down well at all the bottom cabinets on the two walls, the north and east, and recognized the blade Kano had given him lying on the east side, straight in front of him. He had difficulty remembering if it was a gift for his birthday, and if so, in which year—he felt he could not have had it long. He walked up to it, and touched it, telling himself he would ask her later.

His eyes drifted over all of the photos in picture frames, recognizing everyone he ever loved. His pens, his documents lay untouched in one corner, the paper and the silver paperclips winking out from the closed corners of the brown folders, whose tops, in each left hand corner where they opened, bore the little black Konohagakure insignia, reminding him a shinobi for Konohagakure lived here. A powerful one. He looked toward the north wall again, and looked down at the open cabinet below where his books were stacked, books from Dalzen, his father and mother, and somebody else Sakumo could not remember immediately; his gaze drifted up and he noticed something smaller and more compact than the frames, and it was white-handled. Of course, he thought. Sakumo walked toward it, and picked up his jackknife and he smiled warmly as he looked at the wolf's head carved into it, he hadn't lost it.

Still holding it in his hands, he sat down from the lingering heaviness in his head; he said against the doors of the cabinets on the east wall. His son came over, and sat beside him. "Did I ever tell you the story behind this?" Sakumo asked, while trying to clear his mind to prevent it from hurting. His son nodded his head up and down, and his father smiled. "I've had this since I was eight years old. That was over thirty years ago," he said heavily, a little shaken by the bold number. "That was when…I started, as a genin," He remembered the argument that cause him never to hold the blade again, until he was sixteen, perhaps, when he should have known better what to use it for, and not to have danced off with Hizuren and Murasaki to chase shadows in the shadowland near the Azurano. "This blade, is old," he remarked with a little something caught in his throat, letting his tone change and lighten. Staring at it, he could almost see every atom, of every molecule, holding every sinew of the remnants of his father's unending love, unchanging, and unchanged by the bitter years and decades of war and strife and sickness and so forth. The constant still moved him. He treated it with the respect it deserved, and the honor and valor it earned when at times, he had nothing else to fight with to save his sorry soul out in the fields of the wild, wherever he was called. So often, he felt, it came to that point in his life to come so far, and come up so incredibly short. These failures he judged by the breadth of his own shoulders, and no one else's; his inherent weakness after his wife and best friend died; that, he felt had been the most he could ever endure, and he had, somehow, without his recollection now. But the feeling of hurt never stopped feeling like hell. He had concluded once before he simply wasn't as strong as his father. He wished then, he were. As if it was something better to aspire to.

.

Freed from the habits and routines of his tall uncle, Kakashi watched in pride when his father walked outside to inspect the garden and fields, with Kakashi right by his side. Sakumo walked slowly though, as it was his second day home. He felt his forehead off and on with the cool side of the back of his hand. His head continued to feel clouded and heavy as his son explained what all he had done, and stored in the downstairs cellar, and what they had already re-sowed. He couldn't remember doing a damn of it, and as Kakashi told him, he'd done all of it just before he left for tsuchi. After a few minutes, Sakumo had to sit down near the fence line between a garden square and the field of weeds, grass, and wildflowers that used to show winter wheat in it's time. He could remember fixing the fence once, but he couldn't recall the cause of damage it had suffered. He touched his forehead again and turned one side of his mouth downward, in mixed emotions until his son looked up and said, "Hey dad…I have a question…"

"What?"

"You still remember mom…right?"

That curve lifted upward for the boy to see. "Of course I do. I remember…" He wanted to say Kakashi, at eleven months, but he stopped and tried seeing it through the boys point of view…to forget suddenly four years of his son's life…? Not remembering when, or even where he took his first steps on his own…? "We were…a family," Sakumo said genuinely, "At one point. That was so long ago." And yet strangely, it felt like more or less a month ago. It was a feeling that should have distressed him, and yet Sakumo merely felt nostalgic. He could remember feeling happy, once.

"Oh," said his son. "Ok…I just wondered. And hey, dad…?" He began his next question in much the same way as his first.

"Hm?"

"Is Jiraiya-sama…_really_ your brother?" Kakashi looked up and saw he had procured much the same expression.

"Of course he is," Sakumo said without hesitation, but with an odd smile.

"But you and him—you're so different. He's tall and big and he's messy, and loud, and you're…_we're_ the opposite."

Sakumo smiled. "We have different mothers, and we were raised in slightly different times and ways. It's environment, as well as genetics."

"You have…different moms…" Kakashi repeated slowly. "So, was your mom quiet?"

"She was…reserved, in her own way, just the same as Keiko-san is. Um…" He actually wanted to explain it more, but he didn't know how.

"So, how come you two have different moms?"

He laughed, a little, briefly considering if the questions might ever cease. Kakashi was proceeding with them in a logical order. "Well…because your grandfather…_my_ father…remarried, and then Jiraiya came along."

"Why?"

Sakumo smiled, rubbing his forehead, not in protest to the question, but genuine discomfort as he remembered. "Well…because…sometimes…people…move on," The last two words had been the ones he was looking for, and yet it sounded strange to him still, like the words were meant for him to ponder. "I don't know why, but in my father's case…" Sakumo fought the urge to shake his head. "Sometimes, it just happens that way," Personally, he couldn't see himself ever re-marrying, and that's exactly where his son's next question led to, asking him if he would. "No," Sakumo sighed. "Your mom…was too amazing. You're too young to remember, but you once saw wheat in this field right where we sit. Those were…different times, back then, after the war."

"I've seen Kosaka-san's fields."

"You have? When was that?"

"Um…once in a while, you'd take me over there."

"Oh."

"So…and dad…" the young boy said, increasingly soft-spoken.

"Yes?"

"You…'re…not…going to take any _missions_, soon, are you?"

"No," Sakumo smiled.

"Really? Like, for a whole month? Or two? Or three?"

"No, no missions," his father said, thinking over the loss of his ability to sense chakra, among other things. Even though his sense was not as high level as someone like Ichida-san, Sakumo still valued it greatly, after he honed it to all that it could be. "I don't have much confidence in myself yet," he under-stated. "I'm going to have to start training myself, whenever my head will stop hurting…" He felt a sudden bump into his left arm and he looked down and saw it was his son, hugging his arm.

"Good," Kakashi muffled with a contented smile. "'Cause I want you to stay."

.

He dug out the photo albums later on in the evening to try and give him some clue to reconstruct the four years he could not begin to remember; they were sitting on one of the cabinets, gathering a very fine layer of autumnal dust. They were quite large and old styled, with room for five or six photos on each page. The brown one began with a photo of Kakashi as an infant. Sakumo recognized the little pink and red face in an instant and grinned. Kakashi looked upon it interestedly also, while chewing on a snack. "Now_ there_ you are," his father said sentimentally, looking over the newborn with the wispy thin white hair, and the odd forelock pointing a certain way—he had quite a bit of hair on his head. The newborn's fist was clenched in the oval picture near his face, and his eyes were the darkest shade of brown, looking almost black in the picture, due of the flash. And there was the baby and Yoshiko, when they came home, Kano took most of the pictures that followed—there Kakashi was one month, then two, then three, and Sakumo could remember the feeling of those times well, with his wife and boy, and there, at around six months, a picture of the field was taken, black with dirt for the wheat he sowed again. It was first time since after the war it'd seen the plow. Sakumo sighed heavily. It sure did not resemble anything like that now. More pictures of Kakashi, this time in Keiko's arms. She was wearing a small but ornate barrette in her black hair, and Sakumo slowly recalled Jiraiya was still away…but where…? In Rain…Doing what…? Students...? It came back to him slowly, but he knew not their names, if Jiraiya had ever told him. Seven months and so on, until the pictures grew farther and farter apart. Sakumo flipped through the haze inside a small fog until he came to a picture of himself, Jiraiya, Kano, Kakashi, and Rion, standing together outside Keiko's home. He did not remember the occasion, if there had been one at all. He was smiling, just barely, and Keiko was holding his son. He took out the picture and found some hope when he saw her handwriting show through on the back, he read Kakashi was three, and the photograph had been taken in the month of May. He returned the photo to the clear sleeve and sighed. "Ooo," Kakashi suddenly said; from his vantage point as his father was about to turn the page, he could see the pictures of the big fair. "'Ooo' what?"

Kakashi turned the page for him and pointed, "That's the big fair. That was last year, in June."

Sakumo remembered no such fair, but it looked impressive. It was Konohagakure, decorated with all sorts of garland, costumes, new free-standing carts full of food and merchandise, and old shops with new posters, patterns, and red ribbon in the windows. It looked as if it were a cultural exhibit of some kind, a land of fire campaign of nationality, he surmised. A fair. There were fire symbols all along the fences as Kano had photographed that perhaps the Academy students, maybe even Kakashi, had done. He looked to be about four in a picture on top of his own shoulders toward the end, with Jiraiya in the background with a yellow-haired kid by his side who again looked vaguely familiar. Her writing on the back again confirmed it, '_Land of Fire Festival, June, Kakashi, four_'. Sakumo had no memory of the event whatsoever, but it looked extraordinary. He had his mask up in the picture, and he was in full uniform with the short taki sword secured at his waist since Kakashi was riding on his back. Kakashi was wearing his mask up, too, looking a little strange—it was the mask. "Kakashi," Sakumo asked. "Do you wear your collar up as a genin?"

The young boy grinned proudly like it was his birthright.

Sakumo rolled his eyes. "You don't have to," A chill went up his spine of no memory, and seemingly, no control over his young son's wild fantasies. But maybe Sakumo never really grasped the idea he was someone to look up to.

The pictures slowly ended after that, there was one of this last summer of Rion's grave, in the same cemetery he recognized where Yoshiko had been buried. He could remember the somber field that much, all except for the odd growth of the trees in the background: they seemed to have filled in more. And the pictures concluded with the boy's fifth birthday, and Sakumo could not recall that for the life of him. "Can we look at your pictures now?" Kakashi begged. "…Please?"

"My pictures? What are my pictures?"

"You know! _Your_ baby pictures!"

He laughed a little, "I think its time for you to go to bed."

"_Awww!"_ Kakashi rejected the idea quickly. "Oh please, oh please…?"

"Oh…tomorrow, Kakashi, I promise," said Sakumo, putting away the book. "I have just enough strength left in me to put you to bed. I really need to sleep off this headache."

"Oh…" Kakashi committed, "Ok…"

"Go on, I'll be there in a minute."

"Ok…"

Sakumo touched his forehead gingerly, and rubbed his eyes, feeling more tired than he could ever remember. After a minute, he went to the little bedroom on the south end of the house to tuck his young son in the sheets. He kissed the boy on the forehead and said, "I love you." And Kakashi said it right back. Sakumo turned off the lights, and left the door ajar, went back into his room, and collapsed, wondering if the memories would ever return.

.

The following evening, after dinner, Keiko showed him a slim, dark forest green covered book that was indented in the top center with fake silver print that read, _Nights Remembered_. Sakumo opened it, and noticed the author's name, _Kujo Rion_, and he saw a handwritten note in the upper right hand corner on the beige page bonded to the thin leather. _To dearest Keiko and angel, I love you forever. These pages were not in vain when first I met you. Yours whenever you want me, Rion_.

"I'm so sorry," he said after a while. "Kakashi and I…went through out photo album last night, but I—well I just cannot remember. I'm so sorry. I know he meant a lot to you, and I know…how much he loved you," he said, with a clearer memory of meeting the man first in taki, near the great divide.

She smiled, taking it back in her hands, wiping the cover protectively, and then returning it to a book shelf in the den. "He was inspired by Jiraiya, to write it. He always had—he always lived with those memories back before the first war, and he got the idea to put them to paper."

He hated to ask it, "Did I…read it?"

"Yes," she nodded, unhurt by the question, sharing an odd smile. "You should have a copy."

"Oh," he realized. "Right…" finally remembering his inspection in his little bookcase. He'd picked out the book his younger brother had written, and found he'd dog-eared a particular chapter where the young hero had fled to the Gora jungle, up in Kumo. He didn't know why the chapter was marked until Kakashi explained to him that it was his favorite part, and Sakumo had read it to him often, as a child, before bed. "God this is so awful," he remarked disparagingly.

"At least you're _alive_," she smiled, taking his hand.

"Even if I can't remember living the past four years…?" He let her lead him outside where Kakashi was sparring with Jiraiya, out in the grass field in front of her home, across the lane. "Hey dad!" Kakashi called and waved, and it momentarily distracted the boy's uncle, who turned, and Kakashi sprang at him and succeeded in knocking him over. "Hey you little runt!" Jiraiya boomed.

"Hey," Sakumo said, walking over to help Jiraiya up (though he hardly needed it, but accepted the hand). "Kakashi," said his father sternly, "Nothing ever good comes from a sneak attack."

"Yeah!" Jiraiya chorused. "_Brat_."

Kakashi lowered his mask and stuck his tongue out at his tall uncle. Jiraiya returned the action in return before he brushed off the back of his pants. "All right, that's enough," Kakashi's father said, and the young boy lowered his head, and frowned. "I promised I'd take you to the cemetery, see, now, I didn't forget that," Sakumo turned and lowered his back so his son could hop on. Sakumo secured the boy's knees and he stood slowly, and teetered for a moment with the boy's weight he wasn't accustomed to. He knew both his brother and Keiko were watching him in concern, wondering if he could handle the extra weight, but Sakumo found his balance and ignored the sudden dizzy feeling in his head, believing it wasn't strong enough yet to veer him off course. "Thank you for dinner, Keiko-san," he said. "And thanks…for being patient with me."

"Would you—would you like some company?" she asked. "I wouldn't mind…seeing his grave…I'll just lock up," she said, and a minute later, the four were off.

Kakashi caught his uncle's eye, and continued making faces at him. Jiraiya returned the behavior, and Sakumo finally noticed what was going on behind him, "Hey, do I have to separate you two?" he smiled.

"He started it," Jiraiya said.

"Did not."

"You did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did not."

"Did to—" Kakashi growled and gritted his teeth after he was fooled so easily. "Did not did not did not did _not!"_

"Kakashi…" Sakumo said reprehensibly.

The young boy curled his lips into a sour expression and rested his chin on his father's shoulder, ignoring his uncle's victory face grinning wide near his ear, and kept quiet. He held on snug, with his arms wrapped around his father's chest, taking comfort in the scent of his father's hair and clothes and presence. He'd waited for this moment for what seemed like such a long time. His uncle's mannerisms had been far too different to stand.

But Jiraiya, walking to the right of him, did not share any dislike but affection, springing from the fact he was his one and only nephew, after all. So Jiraiya grinned, as he did constantly. And when they came to the cemetery on the south side, he watched his brother set his son down, and the two walked over to Yoshiko's grave, while he walked with his mother to see Rion's on the other side. He had wished to be buried in the village since he shared no love or ties with the land of grass, and he wished to be in this specific cemetery, since Keiko had also planned to rest there, since it was so near her home. Jiraiya hated the feeling he got when she had talked to him about it shortly after Rion passed on. She was seventy-three, and Jiraiya preferred to believe his mother still had many more years to go. In fact, a triple digit number just like the ones he saw once or twice in his life in the papers would satisfy him greatly.

Sakumo and Kakashi returned soon, and to Sakumo's blank canvas memory, he saw Kujo Rion's grave for the first time. The headstone stated his name, date of birth and death, and told simply, _Kusa Born, Konoha Bred. Konohagakure Shinobi_. And the little leaf insignia was carved below, like all men who served. Keiko smiled and looked up at Coushander's oldest son, and Sakumo felt he should say something; "I don't remember…that flowering tree over there," he mentioned. It was young, and planted quite near Yoshiko's and his eventual grave.

"The magnolia?" she said. "Don't you remember…?" she said without considering he may not have. "There was an old magnolia, in that park, on the west end, but it died two years ago. So you asked the groundskeeper, and you planted that young one there."

"_I_ did?" Sakumo said. He looked back saw the white blooms faded for another year—the tree did look very young, and very small, and newly planted, just as she said. It had been in one of the pictures, of the cemetery. Suddenly he remembered what she said about the tree in the park, the same on near Yoshiko's old home. The old tree the two once sat near was no more. And he had no memory of his sentiments, but every reminder now of the utter fragility and frailness of life. Keiko walked up to him and embraced him, returning what most he needed.

.

About three weeks later, his training began. In increments, he began utilizing his chakra, fearing how he would cope in an actual battle scenario. So helpful and clever Jiraiya mentioned it to a close friend (and former sensei)…

"You…did…what?"

"Relax," Jiraiya said. "He _wanted_ to do it."

His younger brother had led him into one of the many thick, and dense woods Konohagakure harbored for training chuunin or genin, or both. The field that morning was vacant, and in a little shaded clearing the three stood: Jiraiya, Sakumo, and Jiraiya's prize pupil, Namikaze Minato, the yellow haired and quick young man. "Jiraiya," his niisan continued, "You should have asked him, he has far, far better things to _do_—"

"Hello!" As if on cue, the hokage suddenly appeared, but Hizuren was in plain clothes, grey charcoal pants and a shirt, with a loose brown vest on his shoulders to match his wild brown hair. "Sorry I'm late! I got lost around the first bend there since Jiraiya didn't…"

"_Jiraiya_…"

"Hm?"

"Oh don't mind him," spoke Hizuren's tall, former student. "Sakumo is complaining already."

"_Jiraiya_…"

"See!"

"What's wrong?" Hizuren asked curiously.

"I never wanted to trouble you, Hizuren, I had no idea Jiraiya asked you—"

"Oh!" He laughed. "It's no trouble at all! You know, in fact, I have always held a desire to spar with you, Sakumo. I consider it an honor, if it will help you find your fighting legs again."

Sakumo groaned.

Jiraiya chucked from the sidelines.

Hizuren grinned, but he was slightly puzzled, "Sakumo, do you wish to go through with this? Are you all right? You're not in pain, are you?"

He had already begun to ask himself the very same question, in regards to sparring. Sakumo noticed Sarutobi's old headband was tied loose around his neck while Sakumo's plate was at home, sitting atop one of the brown cabinet tops, attracting dust. _Am I really coming back?_ Sakumo asked himself, until he realized he had to be able to protect his son. So yes, he imagined, it was necessity to learn how to fight again, for Kakashi's sake. There was no telling when another man might go off in pursuit of the shiroi kiba, especially now, with his sense and senses all down, and his body untrained and weak. He still had absolutely no chakra sense now, and that was making him more than nervous at times, not being able to at least know one's area. Sakumo took a deep breath and felt his muscles were both tight, and tense. But he nodded shortly.

"Ok," Jiraiya announced. "The rules are these! There are no rules!"

"_Jiraiya_," Sakumo it a fraction of second before his brother's former sensei did.

"Yes yes, ok, there are rules. No killing."

"God," Sakumo shook his head. "Yes I think we're past that."

"Hey, just makin' it clear. No summons. This is man and _man_. Ninjutsu, taijutsu, and genjutsu (if you're up for it)," he glanced at Sakumo, "Are fair game. But no seals or traps, or outside help. Clones are fair game if you want to waste chakra on those. Is that all agreed?"

Both fighters nodded their heads.

"Good. The fight ends when one of you pins the other. Then…Now…_Begin!_"

"But—" Sakumo had barely got the word out when he found a kunai in grasp of a hand in front of him, and that was Hizuren, behind. According to Jiraiya's rules, the battle ended.

"Aww…" Jiraiya scoffed, "Sakumo,_ fight_, you_ idiot_! We're not going to stand here and talk about it, come on! Minato and I are expecting a battle of the ages! Right, kiddo?" He looked down, and Minato only smiled awkwardly.

"Yes," Hizuren agreed, withdrawing that arm, "I know I cannot beat you that easily."

"Oh I'm sure you could," Sakumo refuted without giving himself an ounce of credit.

"Actually…" Hizuren let go of the thought for now, "Yes, now, begin, Sakumo."

Sakumo moved back ten yards, and found his balance delicately when he landed, and after a moment, Hizuren disappeared. The shinobi's heart suddenly pounded: _where?_ He had to look, and not sense, but he disregarded his instincts; frantically, he looked in all directions, wasting time, and then moved at the last second when Hizuren landed from above. The kunai Sarutobi had drawn forward, and Sakumo did not know how to respond. He disappeared to go behind him, but Hizuren already had a plan in place, and when Sakumo kicked the back of him, the substitution dropped as a log, and again, Sakumo looked around clumsily. Hizuren again pinned him from behind, with the black kunai.

"_Ohh!"_ Jiraiya groaned even louder, "This isn't a freaking _taijutsu_ contest! Do a _jutsu_ already!"

"Oh shut up!" Sakumo said angrily, in frustration.

"Oh, yes, need I not break your one percent concentration…Saku-_mono_…" Beside him, Minato smiled lightly, to himself, at all the jokes.

"I'm afraid he's right, Sakumo, you are not even trying. Are you afraid you'll bruise me?" he smiled.

"Hey," Sakumo said, frustrated with himself, "I can't help it!"

"Yes you can. I know you can," Sarutobi spoke forcefully yet calmly, "And I know you have always gone into every fight planning fifteen moves ahead with a plan b, c, and d with your trademark reckless charm. But this time, I know, you only have your raw instinct. So just_ fight_, Sakumo. We're not going to harm each other here in this context," he said with a smile present in his voice. "We're friends, and I want to help you find your feet again. I want you to remind me why I have always considered you my equal, if not better."

Sakumo turned in surprise, to face him. He could read Hizuren's ever-charming genuine, selfless smile, and Sarutobi could read Sakumo's ever-present humility and altruism. "I'm serious," the hokage said. "I know you're capable."

"No I'm not…Not now I'm not…"

"We will see."

"_Now_," Jiraiya emphasized, "_Begin!_"

And so they did.

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	44. Moonlighter

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 44  
_**Moonlighter**_

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Jiraiya looked down through the circular hole through the floor of his tree house upon the knock. It was the start of October, the following year, and the twenty-nine year old (soon to be thirty) stared down in surprise over his small silver-haired nephew standing below with what looked to be a sheet of paper and a pen in his right hand. "Kakashi…? What are you doing here?"

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. "Jiraiya-sama," the boy said without any of the usual hardness in his voice, "I wondered if you could do something for me…"

"No, I will not autograph anything for you."

"Oh, but please! Please hear me out!"

"Fine," Jiraiya dropped down, and the six year old let him snatch the paper from him. The tall sage read over the top and bottom, and suddenly, he gasped. "This is…Why in the world would you have one of _these?"_

"Because…I want to enter," Kakashi said firmly. "But please don't tell my dad."

Jiraiya laughed humorlessly, "That's absurd! _You!_ A _chuunin?"_

"Please Jiraiya-sama, I need a jounin sponsor to sign it for qualification. Please? Would you?"

"But…" Jiraiya's smirk was cool on his face, "But a chuunin has the ability to_ lead_. You're _six_, Kakashi, do you really think people would ever take orders from you?"

"It's just as much _skill_ as it is leadership!" the boy said, "Please! I'll get to fight against genin from other villages. Please ojissan, would you?" Kakashi pleaded.

"I don't know…Your dad…might kill me…No, seriously, _kill_ me. I don't know if I can take that risk."

"Please? I know I'm ready; I know I wouldn't let you down, I swear."

"Wow, and you're swearing already. Pretty soon you'll be smoking and hanging out at the five-oh-two after duty."

Kakashi had the most sincere look on his bare little face.

"Well. What happens when your dad finds out…?"

Kakashi began to glow—Jiraiya set the bottom of the page against the wooden block of the sucker, and he took out his own pen, a silver one, and began to sign his name. "Um—I told him I'm gonna be around it; just not _in_ it."

"Oh well that doesn't raise too much suspicion, now does it?" Jiraiya smiled in clear view of cunning, incarnate. He turned around and put his pen away, and stared long and hard at his signature. He knelt down and waved the paper away high above his head before Sakumo's son could grab it greedily. "Now," Jiraiya said. "Personally, I actually don't doubt your talent, Kakashi, because I know you are your father's son, and you've inherited his power and knowledge. You're being trained and looked after by the best, so it's no wonder you feel that way. My only objection is that you must _not_ lie to him," he looked in the young boy's dark eyes sternly. "Promise me now you will tell him before the first test starts."

Kakashi nodded his head up and down. "I will."

"I mean it. Your father never wanted you to be anything more than the strongest little genin in the world," Jiraiya grinned at the slightly quixotic concept. "And that's because he loves you. If you expose yourself now, you put him and yourself in risk from all the enemies he's made, do you understand?" Again Kakashi nodded his head. "These are the genin, the sons and daughters of some of those enemies…" Kakashi nodded his head again, but Jiraiya still did not believe Sakumo's son genuinely grasped the concept. "So, you _will_ tell him?"

Kakashi nodded his head a final time. "Yes ojissan. I will."

"Good, Jiraiya smiled, "You may have this now."

Kakashi took the paper gratefully, "Thank you ojissan."

"Yeah yeah, get."

The six year old grinned and ran back through the trees into the distant field.

But Kakashi did not tell his father he was formally entered into the chuunin exams.

.

So being the youngest entree, Kakashi reported to the largest class room at the Academy early on Tuesday morning, instead of going with his sensei and his other two teammates who were as young as he, and not entered. He was one of the first ones there, and one of the only ones without a regular team, hence he needed the sponsorship of a jounin to compete. He watched in chills as students of other nations filtered in; many faces and headbands from suna, and a few from tsuchi, kusa, and taki, and few from Kumo and rain. The median age seemed to be eleven to fifteen. Security was tight, all around building and in it, and also at the location of their second test, in Sarin's old woods.

The final test did not being until Friday, and that was because the second test, the one in the woods, was perhaps the most crucial and difficult—and dangerous. These were Sarin's woods, after all, the most unforgiving forestland Konohagakure possessed. The orders were simple, to find a scroll. And at the very center of the forest, thick with trees and vines, as dark as night on the clearest day, Kakashi noticed the charcoal color gravestone, and it read:

_Here Rests Sogorie Sarin  
__Konohagakure Shinobi  
__With One Eye Still Open  
__Why Aren't You In School_

Kakashi smiled nervously. And Sakumo looked all over for his son when he failed to come home at the usual time, but the boy, remarkably, was running back to the house before ten o'clock. Sakumo canceled all his clones and knelt down, "Where were you?"

"Our mission ran over late, I'm sorry."

"But your sensei said he didn't know where you were!"

"Right…" Kakashi played carefully, "Because I was…" he thought and made the decision very quickly. "…with ojissan, he needed me to help with his team because one of his students got into a fight with a…suna ninja. I stayed…late."

Sakumo paused for a long moment, looking at his son's clean face. "I'll believe that when Rikudou sage returns with arcane knowledge from beyond…" he said dryly. Jiraiya had had no idea where Kakashi was. And his students were less than helpful. "Well," he said quietly. "I'm glad you're safe, at least…you never do this to me again, do you hear?" His son nodded. "I may not have all my senses still, but I know you're lying to me, big time. Go on, get ready for bed."

"Can I take a bath first?"

"No, you may not, now get inside."

Kakashi suppressed his need to run for it—suffering hugely, he waited until after his father left his room to drop his transformation jutsu. He looked at himself worriedly in the mirror—he was scratched, bruised, stiff, and beaten all over. How could he hide that? Finally, he decided to wrap himself in a blanket he would hide later under his bed. He picked out a few annoying thorns in his hair first, and disposed of them wrapped via tissue into his waste basket.

.

Kakashi reported to duty with his regular sensei since he wasn't still in the forest like other students, and he quickly stopped by the Academy after three to see if the random stepladder sheets were announced yet—a sensei told him they would be posted Thursday morning. So he went home without missing a step, and stretched his sore muscles when he hopped up on the front porch. The rules were, if his father was not home yet, he summoned Korado. Kakashi did, and went out into the backyard to try and practice lightly, but the rest caught up with him that he so needed. The red dog laid down also lazily on the back porch, underneath the swing, watched for a while, and then dozed. After five o'clock, Sakumo walked around the back of the porch and noticed the summon, who picked up his head sleepily. Sakumo saw his son, resting too, in the field, against a lonely brown fence post. Rejecting his inclination to mutter half a dozen curses (upon himself), he walked through the grass and the weeds silently, and knelt before the young boy, who was deep in sleep, curled against the ground so innocently, just like he was supposed to, away from a shinobi's life, away from the village and the duties surrounding it. Sakumo sighed to himself, knowing full well where the boy signed himself to go two days hence: the arena on the north end of town. And he knew, based on past experience, what he would face, and what he and so many others had already gone through.

Kakashi opened his eyes slowly, waking up from his nap. He rose up and smiled, "Hi dad…" His father's smile was quite flat. The young boy assumed the worst, but he tried not to show it.

He picked his words carefully. "Kakashi, do you…Did I ever tell you the story of the white-faced bear?"

"Um…the one about the hunter who killed it…?"

"Yes, that's the one. Do you remembered how he couldn't resist killing it, like the shaman told him not to, and then he became it?"

"Yeah…"

"Kakashi…do you really want to go through with this?"

Slowly, he nodded his head, cringing inside.

"Well…First of all, a chuunin…never breaks his promises to his uncle. Do you understand?"

The young boy's cheeks flamed with heat—he nodded his head.

"And _most_ of all…you never lie to _me_."

"…I'm sorry," Kakashi squeaked. "I'm sorry."

"I hope so. I can't believe you'd attempt this so soon. Why?"

Kakashi began to stutter—"Well, I—I wanted…to prove myself…I know I can do it…And I knew you wouldn't let me try."

"Why do you think I wouldn't let you try? Kakashi…" He wanted to say the boy was still his baby, which he was, in so many ways. "You're my son. I can't let you be exposed like this, even if you could handle it yourself. I don't believe you can. I worry every single day something might happen to you. Kakashi…" he took a moment to settle his own nerves. "I'll let you go on Friday, but you must promise me you'll be careful. If you feel at all you can't handle it, you pull out right then and there. There's no shame in that. I would pull you out myself, but you're lucky you at least have some support left with your uncle. Jiraiya seems to think you can handle it. Of course, did you tell him to say that?"

"No sir," Kakashi instantly said.

"Hm. Well. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Say you will pull out if you can't stand your own."

"I will—I will."

The answer still didn't satisfy him.

"Will—would you…come watch…?" Kakashi asked, based on the idea he held he would be successful, all the way.

Sakumo would have sentry duties all around the village. "Maybe. I don't know. I can try." And he still did not understand what attitude was propelling his young son to try. As he thought back to what his younger brother said, he wondered for a moment, if it was that book, 'Tales of a Gutsy Shinobi', that inspired him. When Sakumo re-read that book, he got the impression Jiraiya seemed to think anything was possible. Sakumo gave it a good second review, but in truth, he couldn't relate to the main character at all. It was a nice story, filled with every route, every voice of determination and spirit Sakumo had heard in his lifetime, but perhaps the magic was long gone in real life; Sakumo thought it was slightly hopeful: it reminded him of his pessimism.

.

From the shadow of one of the beams directly opposite the hokage box, he was unseen by the spectators, and his heart was pounding within his chest and ears when his son's name was called. It was still pounding just as hard when his boy prevailed against the suna genin, using moves from his father's own arsenal, and the red hunter Korado. The six year old ending up winning against another ninja, one from taki, and one from Konoha. And in truth, the skills, power, and wit he showed were enough to pass for chuunin. The only question was age, which was rather ruthlessly disregarded by all the proctors in their final decision of the participants. Shinobi were needed too much.

So Sakumo mourned. He mourned on his own, in private, over what his son was becoming, or what he was at least_ trying_ to become: Sakumo himself. And Kakashi was still hopeful for his father's pride, but Sakumo only gave it in name only, and not half so in heart or spirit. Sakumo did not want the boy exposed. _His_ boy. His only child. Sakumo held him tightly, not as chuunin, but as his young boy, Hatake Kakashi.

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Six weeks later, Jiraiya came to him late one night, and sat out on the back porch after giving his niisan a pie his mother had made with the unruly red rhubarb. "So what's this about?"

"Well," Jiraiya said with a faint smile on his face, "I have a certain contact, and this contact keeps in contact with his contacts—follow me so far?"

Sakumo smiled, "Jiraiya, whatever you have to say, just say it."

"My contact needs you for a mission, but he didn't want to ask you directly. Something about fear of toilets or something..."

"Um…all right…who is the contact?"

"First…I need to explain the nature of this. Sakumo…I have to go north, near Kumo, in a week, so I cannot go—I want to so bad, but Sarutobi wants me with him, and he says…well…you'd be fine with where and what my contact needs you to do. And what he needs to do, is…well…it's really dangerous. I need to know first…if you feel…you're up from something like that. I know it's been a year since your accident. What…well…what percentage of strength are you up to, now, do you think?"

Kakashi, chuunin, listened with all strength near his bedroom window.

"Maybe…eighty-five, maybe ninety."

Jiraiya frowned. "Mm," he said. "Now I _hate_ to ask you."

"But it's your contact who wants to ask me," said his brother, "Go on."

"Well…all right…" Jiraiya said hesitantly. "Picture…a tournament. A…_dark_ tournament. You know, where every single bad moth will be drawn to a flame that is a prize, and this prize, is a forbidden scroll that was found in southern Konoha."

Sakumo opened his mouth in awe, "Dear God…are you serious?"

"He believes any and every A and S-class rogue will be drawn there, and the host is someone named 'Rama' whom they've never seen, nor heard, who found this scroll in the first place. He says the man who can defeat all the other competitors will be given the scroll for keeps."

"…Oh my God," Sakumo thought about the concept, "Then that would require…the ultimate level of infiltration…"

"Exactly. Orochimaru would really like you to join him, if you'd…accept. But, like I said," Jiraiya smiled briefly for the first time since the conversation began, "He didn't exactly want to ask. So Hizuren asked me to tell you."

"Holy…Moses…" Sakumo said again "That's…quite dangerous," he admitted.

"He wanted to leave by the end of the week. He's still working on his fake persona. He can tell you exactly when and where it's being held…I know it's in your favorite country ever…"

"Oh Lord—Not Kusa," Sakumo watched his otouto; Jiraiya did not correct him. "Ah damn. This…'Rama' fellow must know where to pick them…"

"Sakumo…if you decide to do it…Please…be more than careful than the wisest mouse in a snake's hole."

"Oh…" Sakumo laughed shortly. "You bet I would be. Lord…" he whistled. "That is quite the tall order. But…I'm glad Orochimaru found out about it in time."

Jiraiya nodded slowly. "I'd give anything to trade places with you, I swear—"

Sakumo shook his head, "No. I will think about this. And I will talk to Orochimaru first thing tomorrow morning. How many entrees…or black moths did he think there would be?"

Jiraiya shrugged, "I don't now. He threw around forty or fifty, but there might be more than that…maybe a hundred."

Sakumo nodded. "Hm…" he grinned. "Massive round up after the show…With what every criminal and rogue will be there."

Jiraiya's laugh was still bottled inside of him, caught in a cold, humorless chill of apprehension and anxiety.

.

The morning he left, he woke up and had a short breakfast with his son, as usual. Though he said not a word to his son how dangerous his next mission was, the very gravity was burning up in his son's stomach as he numbly chewed the scrambled eggs. After two bites, he did not have room for more, and felt sick with apprehension. But Sakumo knew his son was always like this before every mission he had to be away; he knew because it had been a little over a year since his accident, and Kakashi had been very protective over him, even if Sakumo wasn't easily coping with the boy's dreams. Sakumo put on his favorite, open green vest, the one with the metal across the bottom, and secured a long katana he chose to take onto a brown leather strap behind him, and made sure he had his jackknife with him, choosing not to bring the taki blade. He stared at himself in the small mirror with his mask still in a cuff around his neck. He noticed Kakashi was staring up at him gloomily. Sakumo stretched the elastic of the tie that held the back of his hair for a snug pull. When he looked again, he noticed his son was one more word away from crying. "Kakashi…" Sakumo turned and knelt, and the six year old ran into his chest, wrapping his arms around his father tightly. Sakumo heard him begin to sob when he wrapped his arms around the young boy's back, and one hand held the back of Kakashi's silver-haired head. He knew the boy would be high strung, but he just did not know how high. Sakumo smiled.

"Dad—Daddy," Kakashi got out when he pulled away—the two still held on to each other's arms, "I know where you're going—I was awake when I heard you and uncle Jiraiya talking…Oh dad…" Kakashi's young voice lightened to a quiet squeak, "Don't go."

"Oh…" said Sakumo, and felt his boy bump into his chest again. "Don't worry," Sakumo said lightly, "I'll come back. Sometimes…you have to accept hard missions, Kakashi. A chuunin should understand that. Don't cry—don't worry—I love you."

"I love you," the boy said right back.

After a moment, they pulled away again, "Oh please come back," Kakashi pleaded. "I'll do anything."

Sakumo smiled. He suddenly thought of something that might ease the separation, "You have the inu summons, if ever you need them," he said, "Most likely I won't be using them—they'd discover me in an instant. Also…you should have this…" He reached under his shirt though his collar, and he pulled out the chain that held his dog tag. The chain looped through both his, and Yoshiko's tag, and it also held her wedding band, since he still wore his around his left finger. He'd begun to wear it that way, sometime after her death, but of course he couldn't remember when. But he decided to take off his own wedding band and loop it through the chain. That too would have just been too compromising, considering the nature of the mission. Sakumo put the chain then around his son's head. "There," said his father. "I won't lose it if you've got it. I will always be close to you now."

Kakashi looked down at the chain and silver color tags, and the round rings, holding in a sob.

"I won't be gone long," Sakumo assuaged.

"But…it's…dangerous."

"That's all right," He remembered going up against the suna army, back in the last literal days of the war, where he was sure he would not survive. "I've been through a lot in my time," he said, "Don't worry, Kakashi, whatever happens, happens."

The boy shut his eyes as if he'd burst out in tears any second.

Sakumo smiled, "Oh Kakashi…Come on, you can ride on my back over to your grandma's."

So Sakumo locked up the house, and with a last, hard, sentimental look, he turned away, and went into the village, crossing the little wooden bride and headed over to Keiko's house with Kakashi riding high on his shoulders, and the young boy felt so low, with his head pressed against his father's back, watching the scenery move. Kano was expecting them, and it took a bit of coaxing, but Kakashi finally dropped down to his feet on her front porch. "Thank you so much for watching him," Sakumo said. "I really appreciate it."

"Not a problem at all," she smiled, and in unison, they looked down at the boy, whose bottom lip was curled, staring at his father. Sakumo knelt down one last time and smile, "You be good, all right?"

Kakashi nodded shortly, and tackled him with one last hug. "I love you," the young boy said. "Come back."

"I will," Sakumo said quietly. "And no making jounin while I'm gone," the little laughter was muffled inside his left shoulder. "And hey, I love you more," his father said. "See you…in a little while," he said honestly, treasuring the boy's warmth.

Kakashi treasured it just as much, if not a little more, at that moment.

.

"Don't worry, Orochimaru," he said as the two headed out the village, "I've never done anything like this, either."

"Oh," the raven-haired man remarked stoically.

Orochimaru was exceptional at hiding his emotion, even without a mask of any kind to cover his pale features. The Hatake could remember this well, and Sakumo hoped it would be at least of some small comfort to him. The young man, thirty, Jiraiya's age, showed impeccable maturity for his years. And while Sakumo, forty, felt he flounced at life in the world of all that was ninja, Orochimaru was one of those rare men, much like his younger brother, who seemed born for it. He remembered Sarutobi once told him the raven-haired, yellow-eyed boy was possibly the most skilled of the three. Sakumo did not know yet if Orochimaru had taken on any students like Jiraiya had. Orochi was also not one for much communication. But, over the course of the two days it took to reach Kusa, Sakumo pursued him with questions to bind their act together.

So Orochimaru chose 'Shirai Susumu' as his persona. Twenty-two years old, he had a sort of metallic, indigo hair, cropped short in the front, and to Sakumo's suggestion, it was longer in the back, tied in a thin ponytail. The face structure was young and honey beige, with slate blue eyes that were like the turbulent sea under a clouded sky. His clothes were brown and loose, with a black handled shirasaya and kunai the real Orochimaru carried. It was agreed they would go into character once they reached Konoha's border.

Meanwhile, after much consideration he'd deliberated through, Sakumo chose the figure of an old man. Sixty-five years of age, Nohara Shun was white and grey haired with an unruly mess of bangs and a ponytail in back, not too unlike Sakumo was now, all but the face. Wrinkled and weary with old, all-seeing black eyes, and a blue bandana around his neck, and one on his left wrist, he wore an old dark blue kimono, like the color of shale, and it was cut before his knees, and he wore charcoal grey pants and an undershirt. The blue sleeves were not long, just barely past his elbows, and he wore tape bandage around both his hands and wrists. He also wore a necklace, chained with Shun's silver wedding band, since he had left his wife (of forty-three pleasant and happy years) behind on tall, twisted mount Tokachi back in tsuchi. Sakumo had been unwilling to take the taki blade Kano gave him, but he did carry the little jackknife. Sakumo knew he had to take something his enemies had never seen before, and coincidentally, what he chose, had not seen the light of day in probably, close to sixty years. It was his uncle's blade, the white katana, and Nohara had tied it on his back, where he could reach it over his left shoulder.

He tested it at length before he left—it hadn't needed one swipe of sharpening, and the only conclusion he came to, was that it had not been used—or at least if it had (as the hilt never told), Saru-Shin had sharpened it just prior to storage. It was a fine Senju make, bone white on the sheath, which was as smooth as glass, and also on the hilt, with mahogany red under-toned quadrangles. The tsubasa was a coin yellow, shining like the twinkle of gold. The blade cut easily, and was angled gracefully, and it held a rai charge exceptionally well, without much fray unless forced.

But after examining it in excessive detail (a blade of that status could not have been unused unless for a good reason), Sakumo found by chance, the hilt told one other secret, something his father nor Kano had ever mentioned to him before. There appeared to be a very, very small paper, folded over twice, carefully and delicately hidden underneath the tight twists of the cord on the hilt, and at first reading and glance, it appeared to have been a love note, for it read simply, in aged black ink,

_'Do not weep for me,  
__'Behold you are with me, as sure as the stars  
__That rise in the evening, that shine down upon me,  
__Behold, I am with you, wherever you are.'_

And drawn was a small heart, after the last line, which said to Sakumo it was not from Senju Karada.

He showed this to Kano early the next morning, and she read it with an odd smile on her face.

"Well?"

"I have no…" Until she read it again and thought more deeply. "…Wait. Could it be…" She smiled, reading the pretty verse. "…Keiko."

"…You?" Sakumo stared in disbelief.

"No. Keiko…Iyadomi, Keiko…" she remembered. "Dalzen did some research, a very long time ago, about a year, after we got back. There was a mission back in Tsuchi, where Saru-Shin must have met this woman, and I guess…they must have been close."

"…Really?" Sakumo smiled faintly, leaning his arm on her kitchen counter, staring at the back of the note; he could easily identify with love and loss. "But why would he never use the blade?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Your father always used his, but with Saru…I don't know," she said honestly.

"Hm," Sakumo murmured pensively.

.

Young Susumu was Nohara's student, and both came from tsuchi, up in the rural mountains, and Susumu looked on the old man as his sole mentor, as he had been a lonely orphan since youth. (Orochimaru could play that part well.) And old Shun was happily married with his grey-haired Hitomi, getting out on the cool mornings to feed his chickens and check on the bird feeders, and then climb the mountain to pray, and he had lived and breathed on those mountains all his life, traveling around, buildings skills as a ninja, but working with no hidden nation, as some rogues did. He was no mercenary, but he was a self-trained fighter, and sensei. He was exactly similar in height to Sakumo, as was Susumu to Orochimaru, since a projection was only a projection, and Sakumo could not afford to compensate inch differences in battles that were often quicker than the eye. But he decided Nohara walked with a slight stoop now in his old age, and his left arm was constantly on the hilt of a kunai, hanging in a loose holster on his left side. He also did not walk perfectly even, or in time.

So after two days, the reached Kusa, and transformed into their disguises. The tournament was deep in a northern jungle (Sakumo, or Nohara, both packed with him a strong vile of quinine, in case), and the instructions of all contestants were to report there to draw their number. As they journeyed to the west side, Sakumo spoke now only as Nohara, and he expected Susumu to be his usual, reserved self (as Orochimaru could seldom be anything else), and nearly shy, and never warm (which Nohara was regularly trying to change). "With luck, the scroll will be ours," Nohara mused quietly. "Together with our experience and calm, I know we'll be fine. We carry each other, Susumu, in case one of us falters."

"Yes sensei," blue-haired Susumu nodded.

"Will you not say anything else? Are you this quiet today?"

"I am reserved, master."

"So you say. You have spent your _whole_ life near my side. I shall soon begin to suspect you're planning to run away quite soon."

"Never," Susumu looked surprised.

Nohara smiled.

"I will stay," Susumu said quietly.

.

Rama lived, or rather, resided, in a little ramshackle abode near a wide, circular field, surrounded by bamboo, trees, and tangled, fungal marshland. Sakumo despised it, and even Nohara turned his nose over the muggy atmosphere sickly, where it's bitter breeze brought back more than a few distant memories. There was a wide circle marked with white paint; the border was three inches wide, and the inside of the circle was large enough to hold four fighters at a time, or so Nohara assessed it's purpose.

And though Nohara still had no sense to speak of, there was a prick of new instinct in him that informed him that Rama was a man of many darker shades: to live in this wild wilderness required such darkness. He was black-haired, and he wore what Nohara could describe as a vermillion red mask with two small eyeholes, but something felt wanted, as if the man's eyesight was intact, but not entirely whole—for whatever reason, the old man perceived the man's hearing, or perception, might be better than his eyes. Rama was dressed in a black cloak with a hood, perfect for Ame country rains, but not Kusa humidity. Nohara thought instantly, with a small smile, the man was heat tolerant, and the smile slackened with a small cold Sakumo could feel—the man seemed like one of those rare man who were horizon lines between dark and night, slinking out only when they had something to win, or something to gain. Nohara observed Susumu was also surprised. "You have come for my tournament?" said the masked man, with an odd, grasping voice. It was almost like he had not spoken in all the day, or in all the week.

Susumu took the lead. "Yes. Are we late?"

"Not at all," the man briefly wandered back into the cabin, and came out with a clipboard, a pencil, and two white slips of paper which he held out for each of them; Susumu took then, and gave one to his sensei. "Names?"

"Shirai, Susumu."

Rama's mask tilted upward, after a moment, cueing the old man.

"Nohara, Shun."

"Competitors seventy-one, and seventy-two, most likely the last. Come back tomorrow, after sunrise. Then, it shall begin."

Susumu nearly turned around until his sensei, with the slip reading seventy-two curled in his hand pursued the cloaked figure, "Are you the sole director of this tournament?"

The figure stopped, "I am."

"And the scroll, is genuine?"

"I am a man of my word."

"Forgive me," Nohara said. "But I have never heard of your name before."

"Neither have many. But they shall remember, in due time. Now go. Return tomorrow."

Shun nodded shortly then, and with Susumu, they left. Nohara was interested in what the man had said, or rather, worded, 'they will remember', instead of, perhaps, 'they will know'. Present tense. Even when he viewed all of the other grotesque, large, and sometimes burly competitors the next morning, Nohara felt the most strongly that Rama, was, perhaps, the worst and darkest of the lot.

Sunrise was cool, perhaps the coldest part of the day akin to night, and Nohara treasured it. It offered him a calm, and he took it, to sharpen his mind to asses all the colder-hearted criminals, shinobi rogues, and vagabonds that showed their weary, and sometimes masked, sometimes scarred faces. There were an even seventy-two, with the last arrivals based out of old, tall, Tokachi. Tall, short, round, thin, it was a multitude mix of men and _ukenin_ with hearts and manners tainted possibly worse than those of _oni_. A tall man caught Nohara's eye, dark-skinned with a greasy cut of black bangs paired with a charcoal set of clothes and a black kunai hanging by his side. His charcoal mask hung on his nose. If he only had his sense working, could he confirm if it was really Kakuzu or not. But there was no one older than Nohara, next to Kakuzu, hence he got a lot of looks (and seasoned chuckles, which he ignored) out of many of the men. And for some reason, perhaps a latent bit of anticipation of Nohara's primary personality, Sakumo felt the masked leader, with his hidden eyes could see through each and every one of them quite easily, like a mind's eye incarnate, seeing through to their very souls, and infinite reasons, for coming.

Rama turned and stood at the west end of the circle nearest the crowed and cleared his throat and began to speak whether they stopped to listen. An assistant of his with the clipboard had accompanied him, and stood at his left, black-haired, and even faced, with black eyes. "Welcome, men, I'm please you've all come. As all of you know, I am passing on a forbidden scroll to one of you only. This scroll is from a safe-house, or what once was, in southern Konoha, of Senju origin," A collective murmur rose between the men. "Shodaime-hokage personally sealed this scroll away long ago. This scroll contains not only the kage bushin no jutsu and half a dozen other advanced jutsu, but advanced sealing jutsu, and a hundred more ninjutsu both he and his younger brother made good use of against the Uchiha and other clans back during the wars. I have all the know I need of it, and now you have the chance to learn the same.

"The instructions I offer are simple. I have paired your numbers randomly and you shall fight your opponent until he is either knocked out of the ring you see here, incapacitated, or otherwise dead. Killing is not required, but it does get the job done. All jutsu is admitted, but please, no summons larger than the circle, and please, no wide-field genjutsu, only issue it against your opponent alone. If you harm another competitor outside the ring, you will be immediately disqualified. I wish everyone have a fighting chance. There will be no questions."

"Numbers thirty-six and forty-two, enter the ring now," Rama's assistant called out with the clipboard in hand, and the two stepped out, and two men from the crowd stepped in. Thirty-six was a short man with a black katana, and forty-two was a near giant, standing over six feet with an array of sharp blades hung across his back. The fight lasted less than six minutes. The shorter man prevailed.

And so forth it went; thirteen and twenty-three; sixty-one and seven; nineteen and twenty-seven. The field would be whittled down to half. The fights were not long, and the men in the crowd took some rapt pleasure from watching the fights. Nohara kept an eye on the man he guessed was Kakuzu. And an hour later, the ex-taki man's number was called. "Forty-four and thirty-two!"

He stepped into the circle (after the last loser had to be dragged out and tossed out like an old sack of potatoes into the dark forest) with a silver-haired man that had been one of the most vocal of the men. He wielded a three-bladed scythe, one of the most unusual weapons Nohara had ever seen. Paired with it, the man had the most gruesome and sick style of fighting. While praising a god he called 'Jashin', he pierced himself with a long metal rod as if it pleased him, and Kakuzu suddenly faltered, touching his abdomen in pain. The silver-haired man laid down in his own circle lined with his on blood and seemed to celebrate his victory after a long battle, until Kakuzu shouted, "You rotten little bastard!"

The man looked up suddenly with a quizzical brow, "Huh?"

Kakuzu staggered over, and with the sinewy tentacles that held together his limbs, they reached out and grabbed the man in a wrap, "Wah!" Hidan flailed, "How are you able to move!"

"No one kills me you bloody _bastard!"_ Kakuzu informed. "No one is getting my _fortune!"_

"Ah! Guess I'm not the only strange one who could survive that!" The man took another short stab into himself to stop Kakuzu's arm from suffocating him, and Hidan fled his blood-lined circle to form a different plan of attack. "Not so fast," Kakuzu uttered, and a violet mask emerged from behind him.

"Huh?"

An excessive amount of chakra gathered before the violet mask, and then it gushed forth, blowing in the opposite direction of the crowd, and Hidan was about to be blown away by enormous gusts of wind chakra, and at the last second, he jammed his three-bladed scythe into the ground and hung onto the red shaft to keep in the white circle, but the gust was far too powerful to endure, paired suddenly with a red mask of fire—he could not hang on, and with the scythe, he was blown outside the ring, and landed on the side of a bamboo shaft. "JASHIN HATES YOU!" he screamed, "AND SO DO I!" He fell on his knees, muttering a string of curses to damn his opponent eternally.

"Number forty-four wins."

Kakuzu slinked away, to recover.

Rama must have said something to his aide, which caused the young black-haired and black-eyed man to circle their names as special, as possible recruits.

"Now, number seventy-one, and number twenty-two. You're next."

The crowd was roaring to see another bloody fight.

Nohara put a hand on his young student's shoulder. "Be safe."

Susumu nodded, and entered the ring with a short, brown-haired man who looked as if his specialty were seals and paper bombs; more intellectual than strong, but Susumu was more than smart and strong enough to prove victorious—in less than five minutes. Nohara had walked around the ring, protective of his young student, and smiled at him warmly with a pat on the back when he exited. Nohara noticed again, the masked director must have made some comment so as to have the aide mark something else. How he would have received such an inclination, Nohara did not know. The battle had only been barely five minutes (no where near satisfying the blood-lust majority of the crowd). It was possible he was a strong sensory, perceiving the most skilled among them, but Nohara did not believe that was exactly the case. So the two returned to their original positions, and Nohara said nothing yet on what he perceived, even though Susumu asked a few pointed questions trough the next seven fights before he relented.

After a total thirty-five fights lasting some five hours, at last, chance saved the best for last. "Forty-three and seventy two. Begin."

Nohara walked calmly into the ring, at last. Many winners (and some losers) stood near the circle, ready to offer their seasoned but strong commentary and barbate yelling. "Well," remarked Shun's competitor, "Looks like I get stuck with you, gramps."

Nohara smiled openly through his wrinkled face, and cracked his neck leisurely, and stretched both his arms. He'd grown stiff, standing and sitting throughout the many battles. "Ha," he heard the young dark-haired man say, and he raced forth with a kunai behind his back. He thrust the blade through Nohara's chest, but a log dropped instead in it's place, Nohara hit him from behind with a taijutsu kick—the young man badly took the first, blocked the second, third, half of fourth, most of fifth, and all of six and seven before Nohara leapt back defensively.

"Hm," the younger man said, "Pretty spry."

Susumu looked on intently at the fight—Nohara charged again without using weapons—that was the confidence instilled in him by Sarutobi, and the substitution style had been bred in him by Dalzen. Perhaps, it was even his favorite jutsu, as there were so many uses for it. The young man, however, grew impatient with it. "Can't face me, gramps?" he muttered. A few shouts from the crowd backed his cocky demand. Nohara appeared behind him, but to his surprise, the young man turned, and a kunai blade was a near two inches from the old man's neck—"Sensei," Susumu murmured outside the ring. But Nohara was strong enough to hold the young man's wrists back, and slowly, edged it backward. The young man broke off, and began making hand signs—it was a strong fire jutsu. Within a lightning instant, Nohara chose an earth jutsu over water. Nohara fled underground, and appeared again behind the young man, but as Nohara struck him the kunai from his side, the young man turned into a rock, and so Nohara ended up using a water wall anyway, to block more fire from in front of him. Nohara performed one last substitution and fled again underground. The young man attacked the clone, and it disappeared; Nohara rose up from the ground—the young man was quick enough to spin and meet the blade, and the young man snuck in a kick to the midsection—the substitution unraveled, and Nohara, real body, appeared behind the young man, and placed a hand on his shoulder, and sent a wave of rai chakra through him, The young man dropped like stone, and was down for the count. Less than thirty seconds later, number seventy-two was declared the winner.

Nohara looked on curiously at the masked leader, to see if his black-haired aide might write any comment. But Shun couldn't focus as Susumu walked over and held the old man's arm, "Good fighting sensei." The crowd was disappointed it hadn't been bloodier.

"Mm," Shun responded nonchalantly. He concluded maybe he had been wrote up, and then, Rama spoke, "To the thirty-six of you, we will reconvene once the sun has set, and you shall be narrowed down in half once more. Do not be late."

And that was all he said.

.

Nohara and Susumu rested, and exchanged lengthy opinions and theories. They broke the transformation jutsu only when they were safe miles away, and secluded with a sealing barrier ninjutsu to save precious chakra for the fights after dusk. Sakumo was most relieved though, for once, he wasn't feeling a fever coming on…yet. But Nohara was most impressed by the level and power of Kakuzu's fight. Orochimaru agreed. Sakumo had not seen the ex-taki man in some time, and his opponent had been more powerful—and possibly immortal—than he could have anticipated. "Honestly, who could survive that fatal blow. I mean, it was _fatal_. And yet he continued to shout the rest of the time, damning him for winning…" Sakumo shook his head. In fact, several of the fighters, showed jutsu and skill beyond which he had never seen before. And five men, for sure, he recognized in the top-class criminals book. There was Enomoto, Eiichi, formerly of suna, a former special operations jounin who was, in effect, an intelligence ward, who was, perhaps Sunagakure's most compromising ukenin who had left under most mysterious circumstance; one rumor told he was after simple freedom from the system, not unlike Hideki and Murasaki, but another, darker rumor, did advance he was a spy for another hidden village. Based on Nohara's impression (which was as good as Sakumo's), the man seemed like he moved and fought for himself in his own way, and at his own time. His battle had been one of the most lengthy, not because had little skill, but because the man was relaxed, and possessed infinite patience.

The second was Ohashi, Anji, who, next to Kakuzu and Nohara, was one of the elders. Sakumo could remember he was thirty-five at the time he disappeared from hidden rain, and that was over ten years ago. His case was the most simple: he killed for jutsu. Since hidden rain could not offer him the tools nor the competition, he ran off in search of new adversaries, but for as far as he went, he and Sakumo's paths had never once crossed. The rogue was a rank jounin, and one of the best Rain had ever produced.

The third was simply known all across the five shinobi lands as Tsugira, who collected, as his nick-name supplied, the remnants of all his opponents—his own clothes were made up in patches, squares of garments his enemies had worn. Had Nohara not recognized him, the man would have continued to have been like a secret legend; the kind of scary story a child would be told in the night: 'beware, or Tsugira will come for you'. Sakumo had remembered his name as recently as the war, where he fought against tsuchi, but the man was allied with no nation. His fighting style (to anyone who lived to see and tell) was primarily earth typical of that country, and his rank was guessed to be jounin, quite easily.

Fourth was a mass killer from tsuchi via the Juo Pass, where Sakumo had seen him last, tending his wounds after attempting to stop Shichibi in taki during the war. His name was Kishona Hirofumi, and his skill was beyond that of any jounin. With his swords and tsuchi-based techniques, he was nearly as formidable as a bijuu. It was vicious men like him that decimated the morals of the allied forces. After the war, he did not return to iwagakure, and shortly after that, he was put on the most dangerous list, continuing the war by himself. He was of no friend to suna, however, as he killed without reason.

Lastly, Sakumo recognized all too well the charming face of a young red-haired man, thirty-two who was searching for something. And in result of those searches, communities were disrupted, accidents were arisen, and blame was assigned on his small and swift shoulders. Originally from the southern edge of Kumo, he was never ranked nor allied with any shinobi nation in his quests. His name was Aki, Akiyoshi, and he was searching for a means of transformation of his human form into an animal form, beyond simple transformation and appearances; he sought the jutsu that could change his entire being into that of a spirit like a bijuu. He did not necessarily seek the power of one, but the permanent transformation. By chance, Sakumo had seen him back during the time both he and Orochimaru were tracking the return of Mohore. The fight had broken out in an open market, and Sakumo lost both sight and sense of the young man. He knew for a fact the boy could both sense, and hide his chakra as well as Ichida-san ever could. The fact Akiyoshi was at the tournament now, in bids for a forbidden scroll proved he was still searching.

.

Dusk approaching, Nohara and his student Susumu returned to the open grove in the thick of one of Kusa's tangled messes on the west end. Perhaps it looked more haunting with the approach of night—Rama's mask shown through the coming darkness like a Noh mask representing fire or destruction, surrounded by the cover and cape of shadows. Working under that cover of dim, Nohara calmly and patiently began to analyze the remaining thirty-six competitors. After another showing close to five hours, the field was down to a lonely eighteen, including all five bingo-book entrees, Nohara and Susumu recognized. The group would be split in half again, the following day, in the evening. "Looks like we get to rest up, Susumu," Nohara remarked.

"Indeed," he responded, casting a final glance with his pale, slate blue eyes toward the other men who were leaving.

.

Kakashi had no reason to sleep sound, or sleep at all. With uncle Jiraiya gone, and his father away, deep in the entrails of dangerous Kusa Kakashi had only seen via war memories by his father, he could not imagine peaceful sleep, and with his mind buzzing like a honey bee's in the day, he was no longer tired, nor could he lay still any longer. The thoughts and images were too loud in the small, spare room to be contained; they filled every corner with dark shadow from the light of the north window, expressing fear and consternation. He chewed his bottom lip and thought some more until he decided to break out, and find solace somewhere else brighter in the house; maybe the kitchen, via the light of the refrigerator. He tip-toed down the hall, but as he peered around the open doorframe, expecting to see darkness and shadow back in the den, he was suddenly mistaken—she was up, reading, with a yellow lamp lighting the area—Kakashi regressed—she had not see him. He could just as well get a glass of water without her noticing, but he knew he wanted more than that. So he treaded semi-silently, best he could, hoping not to scare her. But at best, she looked up and she noticed him with surprise, "Kakashi? What are you doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Yes I can see that," she smiled, "Come here," she invited. So he climbed onto the sofa and looked interestedly over at her book, which she closed with a bookmark in it, and the cover read, _Neurology In the New Age_, by a doctor with a long name. "Were you thinking about your father?"

He nodded.

"I was thinking about my son, your uncle. Lately, whenever I start to think too much, I read," Kano looked down at the cover and smiled, "Doesn't help much though. Maybe it would if this were a real book…" She put it down under the small table beside her.

"Neurology," he pronounced, "Is that about nerves?"

"Yes. I was reading a chapter about the brain. I was wondering why…Lately, your father can't remember anything after—well, shortly after he returned from the war," she worded. She could have easily said after his first birthday: both statements were true, but one was less painful to hear. He was still vaguely missing four years. They were four painful years she had to watch him go through. He still remembered the pain, but not so much his son. "At least he's back on his feet," she said, smiling faintly at his six year old son. "Back to burning the midnight oil," though she wasn't sure that was going to do him any good.

"What does that mean?" he asked. He understood the phrase, but he didn't know where exactly it came from.

"It means he's working late. A very long time ago, people would burn kerosene lamps, when there was no modern electricity."

"Oh…Yeah…He does that a lot."

"So are you, in a way," she smiled, "If you can't sleep."

"Mmph," he sighed. "I just wish I knew if he was ok. If there was some jutsu that I could use to watch him, and know where he is," he said, as if hoping she had an answer.

She placed her left arm around his little shoulders, and unexpectedly to her, he scrunched up his knees and he leaned against her. "You're father has fought through many hard nights. He has you, he would never concede easily."

"I know," he said, "But does he _remember_ that? How to fight, I mean."

Keiko smiled deeply, remembering her son telling her about all the sparring sessions Sakumo did with Hizuren. "He's ready," she said confidently. "He is your _dad_, after all."

Here, Kakashi's mouth curved into a smile proudly, she was right.

.

The next evening, Nohara and reserved Susumu returned along with sixteen other skilled and ruthless rogues, vying for that forbidden scroll. There was another random drawing, and by chance, the black-haired aide announced first, "Number seventy-two, and number fifty-one, you're first. You may begin when ready."

Surprised himself, Shun walked into the ring and cracked his neck. "Be careful," he heard Susumu murmur quietly behind him. Into the ring with him came a tall, black-haired man with tanned skill that reminded Nohara both of Kakuzu or Doramin. The man wore only white pants and an open vest on his back showing white and red scars of previous manly fights. The man was not in any Konoha book, but he looked as if he should be. His name was Kazuma, as he'd so introduced himself in a speech last night that had lasted longer than the actual fight—he'd pummeled his opponent with only his fist, telling Nohara the man was made up of mostly taijutsu combat, and part swordsman, but way of the two black katana on his back. Nohara had yet to use his own white one (belonging to his distant uncle) on any opponent, and too, he had not touched his jackknife once.

But Kazuma began to chuckle. "Well, I get gramps. Aren't I lucky tonight? Why in the world would you care for a forbidden scroll anyway? You're far too old to ever learn anything from it."

For whatever reason, Rama cleared his throat in quite an unassuming fashion.

Nohara responded calmly, in an old and well-lived deep, humble tone and said, "That is of no concern to you…Though I think it should be the least bit obvious."

Kazuma laughed deeper yet. "Oh that's nice," he grinned. "Just what we need, an old _ojiisan_ to teach us some _ninjutsu_."

"Maybe you might learn something…"

Nohara's clone worked perfectly, with the same earth jutsu, and rose up suddenly behind the man, hitting him hard on the man's backside—hitting it was almost like hitting steel, but it did make him flinch in surprise and the man glanced behind him in wonder—"I didn't even see the hand sign," he muttered furiously, and he was quick enough to block Nohara's advance on his front. The clone vanished, and Nohara retreated back for a moment to assess him further. Judging by how incredibly hard the man's muscles were, it was going to take far more than taijutsu to bring him down.

"Fine then, I'll make you wallow in defeat," Kazuma said, and Nohara could almost refuse to believe it—never ever underestimate your opponent, Dalzen once told him, and immediately Nohara changed his chakra in response to a very weak genjutsu. It almost made Shun laugh.

Kazuma was more surprised—he tried it again, and Nohara sprang on the move; he used his speed to confuse the bulky man, and it worked to some extent. After about three minutes of fighting taijutsu on Kazuma's terns, Nohara found an opening, and he laid his right hand on the back of Kazuma's shoulder, and unleashed charged rai chakra, shocking him severely. Kazuma dropped like a petrified fossil, and Nohara was declared the winner after thirty seconds in no ceremonial fashion. "Please clear the fighter away."

Shun knelt down first to see if the man was still alive.

He was.

Nohara succeeded in using careful measure. Sakumo was prouder than Shun: he had some control back. He could feel it.

Midway, Susumu's number was called. He faced a tough opponent formerly from hidden sand, but knock him out of the ring in intellectual fashion. Kakuzu went last, with an _ukenin_ hailing from kumo, and the ex-taki man pulled out an easy victory, as Nohara predicted. That left nine competitors, five of which the bingo-book listed rogues, including the red-haired young man, whose fight had been brief, but very impressive, pulling off not only high-level ninjutsu, but high-level genjutsu, to seal the deal.

The winner would be decided the following night.

.

"I will give you this, when our mission is finally over," he said, as if he treated all his students with such kindness.

"…Sensei?" the young fifteen year old murmured.

"It's an old book," he said, gazing over it's dusty brown cover. In the middle of unpacking late one night while the moon was high over the grassy plains of southern Kusa, quite near the border it shared with Rain, Dalzen discovered it tucked away in one pocket of his carry on, next to an old book about genjutsu he'd intended to give Hideki, but forgot. "About…being shinobi," he said. "It was written shortly after Shodaime was installed, by a Senju. It's required reading nowadays—have you read it?"

"What's it called?"

"Shinobi," Dalzen said simply.

Sakumo shook his head.

"Well…There are copies everywhere. But this copy…was one of the few signed by the author," he smiled briefly. "My wife's mother, is Senju. It wasn't that difficult. Or so that's what she told me. I re-read it…a second time, when I was twenty-three, and I learned then, what it truly was, to live this life, or rather…to be this kind of man. The author speaks about life, and love, the duties and roles we play with out nation and country, and he also writes very well on the losses we endure, as ninja. How sometimes…we cannot control what happens in the mission. Sometimes…a man must endure…the most horrid loss he could ever imagine," Dalzen said firmly, but gently. "A loss of a brother, for instance," Dalzen glanced at the young, silver-haired teenager. He was paying attention, but did not seem shaken. "Sacrifice, is a part of a shinobi's life. And those are the true men, that are born to walk in these shoes. And that is not an easy part to fill," he smiled briefly. "Sometimes…a man, when he has seen too much…endured too much…will walk away. Start over. And leave the rest behind. His teammates. His comrades. His…friends. He could even turn to hate them, despise them," Dalzen said quietly. "Convince himself, he never walked this path before, maybe forget it all together. There are men, such as that," Dalzen met eyes with Sakumo directly. "There are men like that."

"Yes, sensei," said Sakumo, unsure of how else to respond, for he had never met one.

There was nothing else to say. Coushander would explain soon enough, in his own words. He'd been gathering the courage for long enough, it was beginning to drive sensei crazy. Dalzen returned the book to the inner pocket. "Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow."

"You're doing the scan tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Yes, and you and Keiko and Dura will be doing guard duty."

Sakumo shrinked, and Dalzen smiled.

.

Enomoto, Eiichi, the ex-intelligence man from sand stared at his opponent intensely before the first match began. Nohara was hugely unaffected when he stepped into the ring, but Eiichi was more than intrigued, he was downright fascinated with the sixty-five year old. After the aide monotonely said 'Begin', the former suna man started, with one hand on his left hilt of a dagger; Nohara likewise, but on a simple black kunai. "Of all competitors," Enomoto began, "You intrigue me the most," He waited for a response. Sakumo might have uttered 'Oh?', but Nohara stayed silent, and instead, cracked his neck and limbs to feel loose. "I can think of no perfect reason why you might compete for the scroll, so I must conclude you're doing this for your student's sake."

Now, Nohara uttered, "Oh…? Is that your conclusion?"

"It is," said Enomoto. "Would you care to prove me wrong?"

"I care to prove nothing, in view of you young man, with the exception of Kakuzu-san, of course."

Enomoto smiled crookedly. "There you are. What trouble have you caused, old man?"

Hoping the man would not reverse the statement and begin to think that he had never once caused trouble in his days, Nohara's stance was ready to fly in any direction. Since the fights would continue from now on all the way to the end, it was imperative that Nohara saved as much chakra as possible for whichever final opponent he ended up facing. Nohara took the first move and leapt sideways, his left hand still on his kunai as if molded there. Eiichi moved the opposite way, and the two exchanged light blade fighting with kunai. Enomoto stopped, and suddenly initiated a genjutsu, higher than the level Kazuma had used the previous night. Instantly Nohara saw through it and negated it. Slightly surprised, Enomoto moved and another light exchange followed. Again, when they split apart, Eiichi tried a stronger genjutsu, and Nohara not only blocked it, but returned a high-level genjutsu of his own—Enomoto became stuck in place, and Shun moved to knock him out of the ring, but Eiichi recovered at the last moment and blocked the hit. Once more, Nohara retreated backward, and Eiichi started in awe. "I never thought you would be so incredibly skilled in genjutsu, old man."

"Well…" Nohara said after a pause, "When you've lived as long has I have, it's bound to get easier."

"No. That was top-rank," Enomoto said. "And you've managed it like it was nothing, without a bead of sweat on your face. Where did you say you hailed from?"

"Tsuchi. Mount Tokachi. I would like to leave for there when this is over. I do have things to do you know. The chicken coup doesn't expand on it's own."

"Forgive me," Eiichi grinned. "It's only—it's rare that I run into any man that can negate jutsu of that caliber."

"So I've heard," Shuun interrupted uninterestedly. In truth, the level of the man's genjutsu didn't even match that of Dalzen's, or Doramin's. The fact this man took pride in his own proved the field was slacking somewhat.

"The only man a true expert in that field, was Morino Dalzen, of Konoha."

Nohara struggled, for a moment, to keep his eyes narrow, and not so wide that the man knew his old sensei's name.

"Did you know him?" Eiichi pounced, observing easily with trained eyes.

There was no denying it now. "I met him once," Nohara admitted with a pensive stare. "A long time ago. Might have given me a few pointers."

"Really? How fortunate. That was quite some time ago. Do you by chance know whatever happened to his owl?"

Hoshu…Inwardly, Sakumo beat himself up, letting this affect him more than it should. He should have been able to prepare for this type of thing better. "I don't know," Shun muttered, even though he could picture Teal in his mind, with the old scroll. Nohara began to muse quickly how quickly he could end the fight. He decided Eiichi would not fall prey to genjutsu so easily with his luck, so instead, he knew he would have to maneuver him out of the ring, or would him with well-controlled rai chakra.

"You don't sound too sure, old man…" Eiichi said, and prepared to fight again. He made the first move and took Nohara on the defensive, a position Shun was ideally suited to since he'd trained so long with Hizuren to regain memory of the back and forth motions—quickly, after a turn, he withdrew the white katana, causing Eiichi to slink back and foolishly give him room. Shun threw the black kunai at him and instantly, shoved the sword into the ground and conducted a current along the blade—the fray sparked and charged the kunai, and the fray from that injured Enomoto. Quickly, Nohara uprooted the sword and conducted a larger sweep down the blade, filling the air with bright white sparks, hitting the ex suna man again, stinging him. Knowing Shun would move in for the kill, Eiichi pushed chakra to his feet and sprang at the last moment to avoid the old man's punch. Nohara pursued him, and on it went for another two minutes before they broke off once more. "Lightning…" Eiichi said after a moment catching his breath. "Your natural element."

"Deduction is yours," Nohara said with a dumb smile.

"Even so. It has not led me to your true identity."

"Should you know me?"

"I believe so…And yet, I _cannot_ figure you _out_."

"Well. Perhaps in another few years, son," Nohara leapt sideways, intending to end the fight. He succeeded. Landing a taijutsu kick from his left side, the substitution Shun loved so undid, and he was able to knock Enomoto from the ring the other way. "That was for being ignorant," Shun muttered so inaudibly, the comment made him feel so much better.

"Winner—number seventy-two."

Number sixty-one, Eiichi scowled dismally, and licked his wounds over in the corner.

The second match pitted boyish Akiyoshi with the manly and gruff Tsugira, the clothes collector nearly twice that younger man's size. He would have a fine scrap indeed should Patches prevail—Aki wore a beige and red-trimmed tunic of a silk material, of a very fine weave. There was a dark red color cherry blossom flower sewn onto one of the short sleeves. But Tsugira had no such luck. Akiyoshi was able to defeat him, and knock him unconscious with a torrent of flowers in a unique jutsu—their scent, at close range, contained a powerful concoction of sleeping potion. After several attacks of it, six or seven at the least, the big man finally succumbed to it's effects, and had to be dragged from the ring.

"Winner—number three."

The third match contained an unknown to Shun and Susumu—Yasuo Shigeru, who was an ordinary, ruthless and strong _ukenin_ formerly from Kumo, and he was pitted against Kakuzu, who, after twenty some minutes, defeated the Kumo man, taking pointers from Nohara, sending Yasuo outside the ring. The disgruntled man was too furious to stay. He left the forest with a grudge, vowing to get revenge some other day. The fourth match was Susumu's turn. Since there were nine competitors, Susumu would have to face another opponent, the rain man, should he win.

Susumu walked into the circle with Kishona Hirofumi, the man hailing from tsuchi whose power inched onto that of a biijuu's. Nohara's only advice was to be careful, but he was fully confident Orochimaru could prevail. Granted, it was always tricking navigating through a transformation jutsu, but from what Hizuren always said of him, Susumu would stay on sure ground. Sakumo remembered the power his younger brother had; the younger generation were no pushovers. Kishona put Susumu on the defense from the start, an uneasy position since he moved quickly and attacked with power larger than he should, but it allowed Susumu to find the weaknesses. Nohara's young student fought intellectually. Kishona fought with power. Brains prevailed, and saved Susumu, in the end, from a dangerous, lethal blow.

Kishona was knocked from the ring, and he was not happy about it. "Seventy-one wins," Hirofumi cursed loudly and then retreated away, vowing too like the last man he'd get revenge on "the little bastard". Like Shigeru, he too left in disgust, limping slightly as he went. "In lieu we have an extra match," the aide suddenly announced, "We will grant both competitors ten minutes, to prepare."

Nohara talked to his student quietly. "…I know you can best him. Just hang in there, kiddo. You fought Kishona splendidly. Just hang in there."

Susumu sighed. "Yes sensei…I know."

Nohara smiled, patting him lightly on the back. "I am very proud of you."

His student looked a little surprised, and taken aback by the comment.

"You have come so far," Shun smiled, correcting Orochimaru. "Seems only yesterday, that I found you. And you were no taller than my knee."

At last, he squeaked out a small smile from his student.

Anji was already in the ring, warming up before the ten minutes expired.

Susumu followed him in with some calm and poise, figuring he was going in with, hopefully, a third of his chakra still left. Ever since facing unbeatable Hanzou back in Rain during the war, Orochi bore a secret grudge for rain ninja. Coming back hating the country in general, he decided to pair that dislike with every move he made.

And he won.

It did not come easily, but through inimitable wit and the reserves, he succeeded in knocking Anji unconscious. He was pulled off to the side near the peacefully sleeping Tsugira by Kakuzu, giving intrigued glances to the sensei-student pair.

"Number seventy-two and number three. Second round begins now."

"Rest, Susumu, I'll try and drag this one out," he winked.

"Ha," said Susumu humorlessly, resting on the ground tiredly, "I have already decided, master, I will let you have Kakuzu."

"Oh Susumu. You're as sweet to me now as you were then."

Nohara entered the ring with the charming red-haired Akiyoshi. "It's nice to meet you," Shun greeted genuinely. "I confess I have heard so much about you, young man."

"Do you have what I search for?"

"I'm afraid I do not, nor will I ever. I have made my life as a man. I intend to keep it that way."

"So be it," said the red-head. "Perhaps then the scroll can tell me."

"The scroll will tell you nothing."

Akiyoshi paused. "Enomoto _was_ right about you. There is more to you than meets the eye. I wonder, Nohara-san, what it is you've really come for. You could have just as well sent your student on alone, as powerful as he is. He would not have had to fight that extra match."

"True. So. Why did I come?" Nohara played.

"I do not know. Please. Tell us," Akiyoshi invited with a kind smile under thick red hair.

"I will tell you…_ if_ you can defeat me."

"Did I see a flash of pride in that smile?" Aki observed. "Well. Once I beat you, I bet we can both get what we want."

Aki (wrongly) assumed the old man's goal was to be beaten.

The two rushed toward each other, fighting with kunai for a minute, and then backed off. Knowing genjutsu would not work on the older man, and since he had been forced to use all of his supply of potion to take out Tsugira (who was still sleeping peacefully near the bamboo line), Akiyoshi chose a different approach—it was a transformation jutsu. Aki Akiyoshi transformed into an orange and red one-tailed fox. It's legs were longer than of an ordinary _kitsune_, and it's body was slightly amorphous, fluid, and flaming, not unlike the nine-tailed bijuu. "So this is what you're after…" Shun murmured. A blue marking glowed on the animal's forehead, in between it's fierce green plant-color eyes, the same color as Akiyoshi's, and the symbol read autumn. The animal darted sideways, and so did Shun, in the opposite direction, keeping his own eyes and mind aware of his boundaries within the circle. Teeth and claws were the animal's primary weapons—Nohara could not afford to get close to it to attack in case poisons were on the claws. Instead, he made use of earth and water style jutsu, and of course, substitution, when he'd been too slow to keep ahead of the fox seeming to bite it's caged gray and blue chicken. In truth, all it was, Akiyoshi was purposefully forcing Shun to expend chakra. So, he had no choice. Nohara drew the white katana, and prepared to strike with a large amount of power.

He moved in back of the fox, and white static met orange color fire. Akiyoshi was powerful, but the power was not matched evenly—Nohara was stronger. Controlling the current, he pushed harder, inching the fox toward the line of the ring.

Realizing then he could not win this way, either, Akiyoshi changed back into his human form, and escaped the white static. Shun stopped, and the two started at each other. "That chakra…" Aki murmured after a moment in the respite. "It's almost like…"

"Almost like…what? Lightning, of a storm? Blowing over old Tokachi? Yes. I like to think so," He silenced Aki for a moment, and in that time, he attacked one more time, with an explosive, large wave of white lightning, and Akiyoshi stood defeated, having been unable to counter it.

"Seventy-two…" the aide said, "You're in the finals. Seventy-one and forty-four, you're next."

Just as Aki hauled himself out of the ring with suspicious eyes, Susumu answered promptly when he saw Kakuzu coming forth. "I withdraw," he young man said, and Nohara was not surprised. After facing both Hirofumi and Ohashi, the young man was totally drained of chakra, with enough left only to carry on the basic transformation jutsu through the final match. Shun smiled and said again he was proud of him. Susumu gave his sensei a slightly anxious look in return.

Nohara stepped into the ring then, with the final opponent. Kakuzu. Perhaps now, he might settle the score. After being forced to run a few times before, neither he nor the ex-taki man were going anywhere now. Nohara actually looked forward to the reunion with some pleasure. He had Sakumo to thank for that.

"Fighters, please begin."

Kakuzu wasted no time. Running along the inside line of the circle, he threw half a dozen shuriken, landing on the ground, Nohara had dodged jumpily, moving opposite him. Kakuzu had intended the to use the blades like spikes, or caltrops, decreasing the usable area of the ring. The taki man drew a black kunai, and the old man prepared to draw the katana.

The two blades clashed brightly in the centre—with the white light overpowering all. Before the flash faded, the two men had broken apart. Nohara performed a substitution while Kakuzu suddenly began transforming. Nohara knew he had to destroy each of them. There were four in total, standing for each element: fire, water, wind, and lightning. The most destructive one, Nohara considered, was the wind. Paired with fire, it was lethal enough to destroy an entire army of men. Such was the destruction on the north side during the last war. It was because of Kakuzu, that so many brave men died, including the younger Keiko's father: Dalzen's old friend and colleague. The fight wasn't personal, and yet it was. Nohara wasn't blinded by rage though, by all the blood he could see on that man's hands—rather he worked toward each of those masks—able to destroy the fire one, first. Next, perhaps the easier would be the rai. By that time, Kakuzu fought harder—his taijutsu had not waned since the last time Shun experienced it—on and on it went, an exchange of white static, a suiton, hand to hand combat, and more swordplay.

Nohara landed backward, careful to land on the right hand side of the shuriken still half in the ground, spiking upward. Three masks stood atop sinewy cords like a mesh of the black rope and a colored Noh mask. Kakuzu suddenly spoke real words other than intermittent cursing, "Your power…does remind me of someone," he decided, "Who are you?"

"Nohara, Shun. It's not my fault you cannot remember me. Are we the same age? Almost?" he said, rejoicing in the respite. "You've left many men dead on the battlefield, you bastard," Shun could not erase the sudden spring of emotion in his words.

"Ah, well. Such is the price of immortality. And of fortune."

Nohara sprang sideways, taking a wind a scythe to his abdomen by the wind mask while his true body attacked from Kakuzu's right. The old man finally succeeded in generating enough chakra to destroy the lightning mask, leaving the water and wind, and barely dodged each as they pummel at him, before both men stood opposite each other once more.

"Sensei…" said Susumu, watching the old man lean heavily on the old katana for support as his breathing was rough and weakened.

"Now I _know_ you're _damn_ familiar, you bastard," Kakuzu returned. His eyes narrowed above his grey mask over his nose. "Well," Nohara uttered, watching him through his own weary black eyes, "I'd rather be _damn_ remembered to you than jolly well remembered."

"Er—Shut up!" he cursed loudly.

"You asked."

"You old beast—where have we fought before? Where _have I met you before?"_ Kakuzu demanded.

"You won the last time—by default—so why should you care you thug?"

_"Because I have fought you before!"_ Kakuzu roared. "And why I failed to rip out your heart, I do not know! Who the fuck _are you?"_

It was quite tempting for the old man to say something like, "I am really Shiroi Kiba," and laugh uncontrollably like one of the _ukenin_ would, but Shun refrained. "I am Nohara, Shun!" he said firmly. "Pleased to meet you again, beast!"

Kakuzu roared, and they went at it again, for nearly another half hour, when two masks still remained, and Nohara was barely holding on with all he had. He glanced over for a moment at his student and found some tired, weary hope when staring into his anxious, worried expression. For moment he found that well of hope so fulfilling upon someone so dependent on you—Shun looked back. Susumu was almost like a son he had to fight for. The only son Shun never had. Kakuzu couldn't take any more of this than he could, he was certain: the man was still cursing profanities, but he had stopped, for the moment, trying to recognize the old man in vain. Kakuzu seemed intent, now, to ripping him to shreds, ripping out that 'old weary heart' of his. He would do whatever it demanded; Nohara, likewise. Substituting the wind for lightning, for the past twenty minutes, he'd been trying to force Kakuzu out of the ring. That was about as easy as collecting all the leaves in Konoha—it was impossible. The man still had excellent balance and awareness. And with the two masks, it was like fighting three opponents at once. Nohara was running out of options, and nearly out of chakra. _What would Hizuren do?_ he suddenly asked himself. Nohara imagined Hizuren would have started the fight better, having more chakra saved at this point, it was his style, just as Sakumo's. But Nohara needed that scroll. And he wanted Kakuzu gone—that's when the idea hit him—would it be possible to try a high-level genjutsu on one of those masks? Or both? Where he could issue it from a substitution, and attack Kakuzu freely…? Shun smiled briefly. It was worth a shot.

While moving quickly, he performed the genjutsu, aiming at those masks—"Sensei!" called out Susumu as the two mask hit on his location, but when the dusk cleared, dark-hared Susumu saw that the masks had suddenly stopped, they were suspended in mid air like acrobats while the real form of his sensei had circled around, the snow white katana gleaming, charging the air with frays of white, unbridled static. The student thought perhaps it was his imagination—he could hear the thunder roll in that open grove. The two ninja fought in a series of blows Susumu could not even see, for the speed and for the light. From the corner of his eye, he saw on of the masks twitching, trying to move—it was the blue one. "Sensei…" he murmured. Beside him stood the re-haired Akiyoshi, watching the match intently—"Nohara—come on," Susumu heard him say.

Akiyoshi suddenly got the goose bumps down the back of his neck. He looked up, and noticed it first—waves of dark clouds were blocking out the dim light of the moon and stars through the strewn and cluttered canopy above—the twinkling lights had been slowly disappearing, and all of them heard the sudden, deep, guttural roll of thunder in that sky. Nohara and Kakuzu were still going at it. The water mask began to recover, and the wind mask was beginning to move in cranks and sputters like a wind up doll, cracking it's face, stretching the sinewy cords around it, and then Susumu looked up too, and realized what was going on—through the mottled sky, the static on the ground was triggering a reaction in the skies—a large bolt of lightning suddenly ripped through the sky, and touched a bamboo cluster just on the west side of the ramshackle house, and with an attack by the blue water mask upon Nohara's location, a deluge of rain suddenly swept down from the sky. "I don't believe this," Susumu uttered, "They're actually making the weather!"

"Some jutsu…" Akiyoshi murmured, in awe. "Some…old men…"

Bursts of electricity ripped down through the sky, and with the water from above and below, the fires were put out almost as soon as they started. A great bolt of lightning suddenly ripped down from above, and made contact with the charged air of the circle, in absolute precision, it hit dead center. Susumu was blinded for a moment and then nearly as quickly as it came, the rain abated, but the currents of lighting continued flashing wildly in the sky like nothing he had ever seen before. Once the dust cleared, the young student saw both masks motionless, standing erect like white-faced ghost overtop a grave. Kakuzu laid in the circle, also unmoving, and his sensei was quite near him, sweating and hovering, and shaking above the white katana, on the verge of collapse, "Sensei!" Susumu called, while the sound of thunder still rolled above them. Nohara continued to stay up, while the water mask fell without clamor.

The whole land seemed to wait then, while Nohara was praying the man would not rise. Susumu bit at the chance to be the first one to hold up his sensei, he waited longer for the director to call the match one way or the other—it could not have ended in a draw. Susumu looked on at his sensei, and spontaneously murmured, "Keep standing…Sensei, just keep _standing_…" A few painful seconds after he said this, a thin bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky and hit near Shun—but his own nature had half-protected him, as static was then frayed in all directions, causing even Susumu to flinch. As if jolted to life, the wind mask began moving past his dead blue brother; it slinked over to it's master, and melded with his body as he lay. "Sensei!" Susumu called out again, begging for something to be said or done. The student looked on at the two directors expectantly, while Kakuzu continued to lay whole. Finally, the aide and Rama walked into the circle to inspect the damage. Susumu was standing just outside the ring beside Akiyoshi, waiting for the match to be called—

Kakuzu blinked his cold holographic eyes and muttered a threatening curse, seething with vitriol.

"Do you concede?" Rama asked him calmly.

"It appears…" he said in a raspy forsaken voice, "I cannot move."

Rama nodded. "Winner is number seventy-two."

Susumu ran in without hesitation, and forced Shun to lean on him, "Sensei!"

"I'm fine…" he answered shakily, wincing around in the thick, muggy, and charged air. He could feel the very connection he shared with the lightning and thunder in the sky.

But Orochi knew carrying the weight of the transformation jutsu was really killing him faster than the quickest poison from any ninja's blade. But Susumu could not tell him to drop it now—they were in no condition to fight a caterpillar, let alone a butterfly. But somehow, to Susumu's shock, Nohara found the strength to wipe off the white blade, charged still with remnants of static and busy electrons… Slowly, and carefully, he sheathed it in behind him. "Sensei…" said Susumu quietly, "Please hold on," he whispered while Rama said, "I will present you with the scroll," he glanced at his aide to fetch it for him. "Your fighting is impressive," the masked man continued. "And powerful. You've made an impressive comeback, _Nohara_," he said pointedly.

"Fuck you," Kakuzu uttered from beneath them. Slowly, he began prying himself up off the ground. "He destroyed three of my hearts, and even _you_, you masked devil, knows who he is," Kakuzu sat upright. "I will fight you again someday," he glared into Shun's wrinkled, weary face, "And I shall rip out your heart of lightning. Then you will fight for me, with that damn power of yours, you bastard."

Nohara and Sakumo were both too weary and unconcerned to care about the words of either man, unlike Susumu, who took away giant leaps of alarm with Rama's cryptic, mysteriously omniscient statements. Luckily, the aide was exiting the shack with a large forbidden scroll in his arms. Shun straightened, and Susumu stared at his sensei in dumbstruck awe—either he was faking it, or he had a reserve still left. But one glance at sensory Akiyoshi told more of the former, with the same unbridled look of awe across his boyish face. _How can he act this way?_ Susumu asked himself without an answer.

Rama took the scroll and cleared his own throat, "The scroll Shodaime hokage once sealed away, genuine, in real, is yours, Nohara, Shun, winner."

"Thank you," said Shun, and accepted it, and let Susumu take it from that point.

"I would hope our paths might cross again, Nohara."

Shun shook his head. "Retirement may take me now," he said genuinely.

"That is what you said once before, and, as I do recall, it did not have a good hold on you."

After a slight surprise now, Nohara stared at the masked man and said, "That's because…I wanted it, too badly. The universe does not reward selfishness."

"And neither has it rewarded _selflessness,_ either. You poor soul. Unable to find the happy median."

"It is my lot in life. Perhaps I drew the shorter straw."

"Perhaps."

"Susumu," said Shun firmly, without taking his eyes off the all-knowing vermillion color mask, "Are you ready to head home?"

"Yes—sensei."

"Then, farewell."

"Sayonara," Rama returned, with a slight nod of his head.

Thunder rolled above the circle as the two left, heading north, to tsuchi, beyond the ramshackle hut.

Aki, Akiyoshi inched closer. He watched Kakuzu come to a shaky stand, and he left in hurt and disgust. Both Tsugira and Anji woke up to find the matches over, and they too left, along with Enomoto, who had the most dumbstruck expression on his otherwise omniscient face. Aki could feel a small, white static still charged the air, and traveled through the clouds above like beams of light. The lightning was slowly diminishing overhead. The thunder, still loud. To the very end, Shun had been expending chakra, actually able to produce a lightning storm overhead, in the sky. "Did…you know that man's true identity?" Akiyoshi asked quietly after a moment, when they were the only ones left in the arena.

"Was it not obvious?" Rama rejoined. "…The heart of the shiroi kiba is a very interesting, sentimental thing."

"Shi—Shiroi…Kiba…" murmured Aki in shock, "It _was_ him!"

Rama smiled beneath his face mask, stretching his pale, dry skin. "Aide," he said suddenly, "Tomorrow we shall retrieve Kakuzu, Hidan, and that Rain fellow."

"Yes master."

"What…do you need them, for?" Akiyoshi inquired.

"I was thinking…of starting a little club," said Rama.

"Could this club…transform me into a kitsune?"

"Anything is possible."

"I do not want possible. I need yes."

"That I cannot promise."

"So be it. I will go my own way," Akiyoshi turned to leave, but the thought of the Shiroi Kiba made him pause, "The leaf ninja infiltrated this tournament…Will you not be going after him—them?"

"He won it fair and square," said Rama, smiling furtively once more. "He and I both understand that. And besides…the mind of the shiroi kiba isn't worth much—" he paused in the overhead sound of thunder. "His body would be the only thing worth a damn to me."

"…Oh," said Aki, with his sense feeling the coldest chill behind that fiery mask and black cloak. It made his soul shake like nothing else had done before—he turned and he felt a small prick of rain on the back of his hand, "Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye, Aki," said Rama. Years later, he was still tossing up the idea of telling Kakuzu he'd been beaten by the shiroi kiba. The knowledge of the fact always made him laugh like he hadn't done in a very, very long while. It was like keeping irony, in a box, made of time. He liked that feeling.

.

While his sensei was fast asleep, one of his last acts as Shirai, Susumu, Orochimaru summoned one of his snakes, and secretly, made a copy of that forbidden scroll for himself, before they would turn it over to Hizuren for safe keeping.

"He knew who you were," Orochimaru said when Sakumo awoke, referring to the cryptic masked man.

"…Yes," the shiroi kiba said after a moment. "I know."

"So?" Orochimaru looked at him expectantly.

Sakumo shrugged. "Not much I can do about."

Orochimaru continued to be shocked by the man's general indifference.

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Nearly three a.m., December sixteenth, after twelve long and interesting days, Kakashi awoke to hear a tapping outside the window off the north wall of the spare bedroom. Instantly reaching for his black kunai, he slinked along the floor to look out the window at an angle.

He saw his father, leaning against the railing, staring down at his nails. Dropping the kunai and tripping over the side of the bed, Kakashi rushed out the door and down the hall, and around to the front door, and the six year old opened it.

"Hey!" Sakumo scooped him up and held him tight, with a warm smile on both their faces. He twirled him around, in full uniform just like he left, with the white katana still tied across his back. He did not let go of his boy, even after Kano came to the door in her navy yukata, folding her arms with the kunai ring hanging around her right index finger, her face beaming with a steady grin. "Welcome home," she said softly, smiling.

Kakashi stared up at the stars on his father's back when they walked home in the dark. The young boy could recognize the big and little dipper and the north star, in the center, and he pointed this out to his father, how immaculately clear the sky was to see it. "You mean the mountain flock, don't you?"

"Flock?"

"Did I not ever tell you about Naga, and his sheep?"

"Naga? No…I don't remember…"

Sakumo smiled, and told him the story, feeling a bit like Naga himself, up there high on that mount, able to see everything in view, but have none of it.

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	45. Five Flat Rocks

(_A quick note_: In a perfect world, Tahle, I wish you could have proof read this one for me too, but alas, it seems I have been the only one to do that duty in all of Cou. I'll explain more in the closing 'Author's Epilogue', but for now, I just want to say that at last, this chapter was not hard to write. I was _not_ looking forward to it because this begins Sakumo's final end, but at the same time, I _was_ looking forward to write this one last time, because I think finally, at long last, I've gotten it right, or at least as close as I'm going to get. The third time was indeed the charm. And it's one more time than Sakumo was ever entitled to… A distant hope would be that this chapter could stand on it's own. And no, Kano is not going to die soon, so don't worry about that, in case anybody was…)

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 45  
_**Five Flat Rocks**_

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And so another year passed, with the cold war in Kumo heating up a little more everyday, despite Hizuren's efforts. All the ninja were still war weary. That was perhaps the only real thing abating full out war or conflict. For the tactics Kumo was beginning to employ were very old fashioned. The hokage actually asked Keiko to one closed session between himself and his old teammates; Homura, Koharu, and Danzou. It was an enclosed steel bottle which it's only property was magnetic. "I have seen something like this before," she nodded. "It's the same as if they are setting up perimeter barriers. In this case, they're hoping to use it for anything to distort directions to Lord only knows."

"Thank you," said Sarutobi, "Sorry to trouble you."

"No trouble," she said, and took it her experience was no longer required.

But Sakumo's was. Since he returned from the dark tournament victorious with both the large scroll and a couple _ukenin_ locked away for good, he was sent north frequently, along with Orochimaru and Tsunade, on occasion. Jiraiya was in the west and down south, off and on, like a ball being rolled between both locations; Jiraiya hated it, and said he was continuing to write in the down time. But Sakumo's talent was still the strongest, in a league of his own, he and Sarutobi were able to keep things in check while Kumo bided their time like a bear that hibernated during the winter. Once it awoke, there was nothing they could do but what they did in the last war. Normalcy prevailed in the village for the most part. While knowing it was serious, Kakashi never paid much attention to it, leaving the mechanics of distant operations to people like his father, even if there were none like him. In essence, it was just handsome old life and learning that swirled around Kakashi's seven year old frame. The young boy's sensei had instructed them in a brief exercise to keep a journal for a month or two, recording anything of interest. Of course while the young boy was out, his father was home and happened to sneak a look (once he could find the darn thing) and he read: _I want to be a shinobi, just like my father,_ one of the latter entries concluded, _He is known by all the ninja in the five great lands. He is strong and knows lots of ninjutsu. I dream I am like him someday._

Sakumo took it in mixed reviews, at first. On one hand, he was flattered, even coming to appreciate the fact he had come back so far since his accident in tsuchi that had left him with amnesia and the loss of his chakra sense. But on the other, he was acutely troubled. Deep in his soul, Sakumo knew for fact he was never meant for the life he was living now. That was why, being October, he collected another year's harvest and sowed another in the fields of the garden. That was why he fought with blisters and calluses across the inside of his palms from the wooden, splintered shaft of the old hoe, the shovel, or the pick ax. But Kakashi didn't care, nor did he take interest. He was more focused on training than field work, despite Sakumo's efforts to show his silver-haired son another way of living.

And then another year passed on like the last. Sakumo was forty-two, and his boy just turned eight when he was summoned north one more time. Conflict had budded back in March and now the war had come between Konoha and Kumo, in disjointed conflicts and scurries across the northern border. A team of cloud ninja had even infiltrated the northwestern med station, taking in thirty hostages, including the doctors and a few taki refugees from the west. Orochimaru volunteered to try and negotiate with their demands. He had the power and wit to show he would never bluff. Meanwhile, the beginnings of an advance on Konoha residents was imminent, so, they sent Sakumo, along with three men.

Sakumo said a goodbye to his eight-year old son on October fifth, trying to promise according to the boy's wishes he would not be away long.

His team was a blockade, of sorts, before the rest of the leaf ninja held up positions further south. His task was to halt the advance in Cloud's territory so as to buy time for those men to sure up those locations from the possibility of a direct attack, which would be devastating if the defenses were not there…Comprised in the team were three good jounin, two quite prominent young men, and one whom Sakumo had known for quite some time, forty-six year old Murase Shin. Sakumo had (quite nearly) begged for another experienced man on his team rather than the two rookie-like jounin on the team, and Shin volunteered, recommended by Danzou and the council. Piercing into the hole of the sleeping beast, Sakumo was grateful he had him, even if the man had turned taciturn, with a nature almost like that of Orochimaru. Time had cultured Shin to being very civil, while Sakumo had merely grown lackadaisical and weary. Once again it seemed death or insanity were the only two possible ends for a man…

Heading into Kumo in the dark of night on the eighth, they crossed the short stretch of jungle and the Ibi river line, and then came to a stretch of rolling green hills of mint green grass, laden with clear wet dew, much more pleasant than the ones of Kusa, or so Sakumo imagined. On the west and north side of that was a stream that ran down with a forestland beyond it. But the four traveled east of there, into another quick expanse of jungle and trees where the land hence was river, mountain, and hills. It was the land of clouds, after all. After a rolling hill, hiding themselves behind the trees, Sakumo and his team could see the large platoon in the distance. "…We deal as much damage to it as possible, cut off their supply lines," Sakumo looked around for a routine 'yes sir', but found nothing but a quick nod from Shin. Though Sakumo often asked for less than strict behaviour since he always disliked being called 'Hatake-sama' or some such nonsense, the shiroi kiba took the behaviour as incredibly strange, or incredibly ignorant, one of the two, he couldn't discern which. Realizing maybe he'd been stuck with two jounin who were only in it for a glory run, he bit his lip under his mask and frowned, unable to sense any strong emotion like he'd once been accustomed to. He couldn't see Shin siding with that type of behavior, he was too old, much like himself, to care one way or the other about glory now—or so Sakumo would assume. Sakumo had not actually served with him personally in a tight man cell since the incident at the Great Divide. "Follow my commands," Sakumo stated plainly, and more silence ensued, as if they were waiting for their captain to drone on about the plan of attack.

Which they did not follow.

Not even Shin.

_There comes a point,_ so wrote in the book Dalzen had given him so long ago; almost twenty-seven years, that young Sakumo had read faithfully, _in the life of every ninja, where he must make a difficult decision. It comes not in haste, like those of the morning, it comes in slow, like those late in the night. Perhaps one must weigh the death of one, versus the death of one hundred, ne'er forgetting the one that is diminished, the one voice in the morning, that wakes you from your slumber, that says, 'Rise again, and Come away, with me'. Perhaps it is the difficult choice of self-sacrifice, the choice of vanity or of pride. These things are both hollow, except the former. For any man, who will lay down his life for the sake of another, for the sake of something good and true and honest, or for the sake of something bigger than he does not die in vain. He may die alone, in the dark, where no one will ever see or know his actions, but that is the very sacrifice that out weighs all, and is the most honored, and revered. He is the one who will live on, even if no one remembers his song. Even if the choice comes in the darkest of nights, in the darkest of places—the fire of such an action is bright with the most sacred honor a man will ever show. Do not be afraid. Heaven sees the flame. And each of us dies alone. As human beings, we are measured by our capacity to love, and have heart to show care and concern for our brothers and sisters. There is no greater calling, friends, than the chance to defend their freedom, even at the cost of so much._

.

Seventy-six years old, she was indeed working part-time now (for almost a year) at that Konohagakure hospital. Kano Hoseki wasn't a workaholic, she only loved her job too much to ever think of quitting. She had enough funds, enough time and resources as her son suggested, but to sit around all day on her own? She couldn't stand it. She never could. So for at least four days a week, she went in and worked, all the while ignoring the eager helpfulness of the younger nurses (Kawazu, to his credit, tried to tell them never to assume she needed anything) and the frequent openings of the doors whenever she was coming in or out by any person of the medical staff. She thanked them all the same, since it was a kind gesture. She climbed the stairs and worked on the fourth floor, where there were no immediate attention cases, but instead, more long term and some rehabilitation. She knew most everyone there, and they knew her, in return. After working there for so long, it was just common knowledge. And maybe, another part of her devotion resided in the fact she did not like being alone. Especially now.

Being a single woman never bothered her in that way ever before, but having no one to talk to, did. Looking back, she used to spend so much time with Chinatsu, when the woman wasn't working late in the intelligence ward, or with Yukie, Takato's wife, walking down through the village on occasion, walking through the markets on sunny afternoons. They didn't do it so much anymore; not as frequent as she would have liked. But lately, her life seemed so empty without those men, her past teammates. Rion had been gone three years already. She found it easier to busy herself again with all the names and faces and problems in the hospital, helping to take off in her mind the loneliness the loss those men left with her. She thought once, if she lost her son Jiraiya, she'd go mad.

Since he was gone, she stayed a little overtime that night, unofficially. Kawazu did not like her doing it, official or unofficial, but she had nothing else to do, and the meal in the cafeteria was as good as anything she could make from scratch at home. Kano wandered the third floor then for a while until she finally decided to leave at seven. Passing the second floor from the stairs, she caught notice of the auburn haired medic, Sayama Nora, just beginning her night shift. Kano knew she could not interrupt the young girl now, no matter how much she would have liked to stay and chat. It held little weight anyway, considering Sakumo had not pursued her like Kano had hoped he might. Coushander's gifted son had not pursued anyone as far as she knew and as she continued on her way, she felt for him miserably, as he so went out of his way now to sequester himself and live alone, as if he had no friends nor comrades to speak to in all the world. For over seven years now, he was without his companion, without that light of hope and dreams she once remembered in his eyes. It was the same way Chinatsu fell, after Dalzen had left them unexpectedly. Keiko cringed—those tears were always quite near her eyes when she thought of that tall, gruff Morino she'd known for so long, watching him find happiness in his life he never thought he'd find. True, the man had also been Sakumo's sole mentor for a long time before Coushander reciprocated that role just before he died, leaving the young teenager in more pain than before he'd left him. She shook her head, hating that death. "I don't like you," she sounded. "But I'm not afraid of you. Just don't take anybody else," she thought dimly. "And please, Lord…Don't let there be another war…"

There could just as well be another war beginning tomorrow with ribbon and bow country, and she would be no more bitter at all. That was life. Hoping for the best. Preparing for the worse. Just like her parents had done. And then she raised a son (quite late in her life), crying the day he left, to go be a man somewhere. He was only thirty-one now—thirty one!—Almost thirty-two now! "Oh," she rolled her eyes in anguish. "I can't believe it," she smiled in a glow of warmth at the image of his face—her and Coushander's youngest boy. Thirty one. Wishing that his father could be here now caused her to remember his chance words to her: everything happens for a reason. And so it had.

Since Sakumo refused the boy to be on his own now, Kakashi came home at eight to her home, since he told her he would be staying late to train. She'd heard that line before from her own son years ago; it was no surprise that determination and stubbornness were key Hatake traits, in addition to the unruly silver hair Coushander always kept behind him. Sakumo's boy showed up on time, at least, unlike Jiraiya had, and knowing with an insight he was famished, she fixed him a little something and listened to him explain the progress he'd made controlling his rai nature with a kunai blade, just like his father could. He said he was planning on training again tomorrow, since it was his day off. It was hers, too. "Tomorrow I was planning on raking around your father's fields, you know, in the garden—would you mind helping me?"

Kakashi scrunched his nose and squinted his eyes like he found fault with the idea. "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing the expression and the young boy lowered his head, "Oh," he shrugged. "I don't know why he bothers," Kano looked at him strangely. "I mean…being a ninja is just as important," he said matter-of-factly.

Kano recognized his father's concern then. Sakumo had confessed to her he felt his son was beginning to head down the wrong road, in his eyes. "I can't stop him from training," he shook his head. "I can't stop him now from holding a kunai, or changing his nature. Where does it end?" he said. "I can't let him grow up this way."

"He's only seven," she smiled.

"He is my son. He's in danger, he's confident, he keeps his room clean…worst of all, he's confident."

Kano watched his eyes linger on the kitchen counter, forlorn and dark with worry. Perhaps Sakumo was more insightful about his son than she originally thought. "Raking leaves is just like training," she looked at his son and smiled. "Your father would be so happy if you did that for him."

The eight year old winced, "Oh…" he sighed again. "All right," he agreed, figuring he'd have enough time to train later, when the routine chores were done.

.

He was flipping out the short blade, and then hearing it clip back inside the short shaft, back and forth, one motion to the next: the blade was extended one moment, and then receded; two stationary ways to hold it in front of the shiroi kiba. The small shaft was white bone, ivory, riveted in, and at one end a wolf's head was delicately carved in a short relief. It was almost like the wild face of one of the man's dogs, and the blade, or fang, he'd observed, had been very sharp. Shiroi kiba must have sharpened it before he left. He must have sharpened it regularly for how many men who continually wanted to kill him. Besides what sentimental value it had, Kumo was the country to bring a blade behind your back to. Besides the different shades of ninja, being shiroi kiba made it necessary. So many bounty hunters liked to stay in that country, able to hide from their captors north, in the green valleys and mountains. And being shiroi kiba made one a target of any man in the world with a grudge, but he had none. He bore none. He was merely fascinated, intrigued, and greatly satisfied when his men brought him here unconscious, without a word or twitch of fight typical of all leaf ninja. A bang to the head might do that, in addition to what Sakumo had done—or at least tried to do. Such was one of the consequences of failure, he smiled, an idea quite foreign to the powerful jounin, so his record told. And his record was a lengthy and colored one at that, considering the shiroi kiba actually resigned nine months after the second war. That's when his first and only son was born. That's when life treated him kindly, or so he took it, with the same half-ass respect it gave to other men who were nojojin. He laughed. Funny. He had never thought shiroi kiba the type. But he made it a point to know everything on that man's dossier and more, or as much as possible. Field work seemed to run in his family like the byakugan to the Hyuuga. Hatake Coushander, a nojojin, after silently escaping the same system his son would enter into. Ryouma Saru-Shin; it'd taken him longer to exhume that file; he was Coushander's older brother of, possibly, the same clan as physical appearance revealed, who had stood beside the old but beloved Senju Karada, along with leaf ninja Harou Nekai, whom he knew, committed suicide more than twenty-four years ago this year, leaving behind a young son. After this recollection, leaf ninja seemed to him either brave or wanting, carrying on with too much sentimentality until it drove them insane, dead, or miserable. He smiled. Sakumo was no different now.

And, he was waking up, finally.

Both of his arms were parallel in shackles on the wall, with his knees on the floor, and his head feeling slightly heavy. But the first thing he could realized was actually in his head—it was crystal clear, and he could feel the presences of four men immediately in the room with him without looking, and then…ten, or twelve, at least, on the outside.

His sense had finally returned, after three years doing without.

"Hello, Hatake-san."

He looked up and instantly began to feel rage like he'd never felt before when he noticed the white jackknife his father had given him in the hands of the man sitting on the metal chair, flipping the blade in and out repeatedly. A tight knot of fury spread through his limbs, preparing himself to focus his chakra and break the metal holding him. "My name is Kitano," he continued, enclosing the blade, stopping his idle movements. He tried not to smile too wide in view of the perfect, angered stare under the shiroi kiba's silver-color hair, and above that blue mask of his, dark as the night without stars. "Let's not get off to an unfriendly start now, I've waited long enough for—" A white flash cracked the air and on the wall and the leaf ninja broke free from the shackles and as his arms fell and he stood, he was hit with a paralyzation jutsu from the trio of Kumo ANBU in the room—with effort, he summoned enough strength to overturn that capture jutsu and dashed forward without weapons, only rage enough to throttle the man's neck—he was hit suddenly with a median-level genjutsu from the sandy-haired man sitting in the chair, "Please. I just want to talk," he said calmly. But Sakumo dispelled it and caught one of the arms of one of the ANBU on his right. The other one came around to his left, where he took a hold and crashed the two together and he retreated backward and noticed only one of the ANBU, the one in the back, was carrying a kunai blade, hanging loosely at his side. Obviously, they did not want to kill him; they would have done so already. Seeing that man wasn't engaging, Sakumo threw some bait—he knelt, touching the floor, sending white sparks flying, charging the air, once again, he felt the tug of a paralyzation jutsu waft his way. He broke free-the one in the back was indeed the strongest. Flashing white static in front of the two before him, he spun and darted around to the man in back, exchanging a few fists and blocks, expertly knocking him with taijutsu against the far wall, took his kunai, dispelled another one of the ANBU, and took the blade against the front of the man's throat while Sakumo stood behind, holding out his left hand. "Give it to me now."

Kitano smiled.

"I said, now."

"All right…" Kitano said calmly, and put his hands up slowly, placing the jackknife in Sakumo's left hand.

"You're welcome," The black blade pushed against his throat, still not piercing the skin. "But this posturing will get you nowhere."

"Likewise," Sakumo could read how much chakra the man in the chair had. It wasn't enough to pose any challenge to him. He guessed the man sitting there was somewhere in his thirties. "Why do you still smile?" Sakumo asked, flipping the jackknife open to slit a small part of his thumb for a summoning. He knew he'd need it.

"Because I do not intend to kill you, and you do not intend to kill me."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

All around him, the three masked cloud ANBU were recovering, coming to their feet slowly like puppets whose strings were being raised. Sakumo could assess them all easily just like he used to—the one on his left definitely felt a little angry.

"Men," Kitano said, and the Shiroi kiba felt the wave of chakra hit him, stronger than the last time. With Sakumo hesitating because of the bind, Kitano delicately moved from the chair and took up a position on the forth corner, and added a part of his chakra to theirs. A few seconds later, Sakumo inclined his head downward, his heart beating quickly, and then he unleashed the chakra with him, breaking free until he was suddenly hit by a gust of chakra straight to his chest—it was from Kitano and Sakumo stumbled backward against the wall, the trio still issuing that biding jutsu. Sakumo looked up. The nature of chakra Kitano possessed was wind, and though his reserves were no where near Sakumo's level, a well-placed blow was just as effective. Sakumo struggled to rise up his nature and himself to overturn the jutsu and defend himself—he finally did, just as Kitano was about to issue another scythe of wind. Sakumo darted right, taking out the strongest of the trio, feeling instantly the hold cease and he spun quickly, taking out the other two with a quick and skill he had not used in a long time, and finally, as he turned to the fair-haired man, he dropped to his knees suddenly, with his heart skipping a beat.

"Oh good," said Kitano. "I'd so hoped it would work on you."

Sakumo felt all the power draining from him very, very quickly—fighting to summon it only made him shake and tremor—"What—what have you done?" he said, believing for certain he had not missed anything.

"A poison to take you down has to be quite strong," Kitano knelt down on one knee, "And it must fool even you. I do not take you for stupid, shiroi kiba, but I do take you for the sentimental kind," As Sakumo bent over further, prostrating in utter weakness, unable to move anywhere but down where the gravity carried him, Kitano reached out and pried the ivory jackknife from under the shiroi kiba's palm. It was difficult to get out safely without cutting himself and receive the same toxin, but he managed it.

Sakumo felt the most intense beaten feeling, and the most animosity toward him like he hadn't felt before he slipped into the grasp and floor of unconsciousness.

.

"Let's try this again…shall we…?"

Sakumo lifted his gaze slowly, and saw the man sitting there with three masked kumo nin behind him. The man was flipping the blade of the pocket knife easily, and calmly. Familiar rage began to boil inside of the leaf jounin, yet he could not properly utilized his chakra enough to break free from his renewed bind against the wall, at least not yet. He had no weapons now, and little telling what time had passed, nor place.

"As I was saying before you tried to escape, I have waited so long to meet you, Shiroi Kiba, I feel honored."

Sakumo smirked quickly through the rage shaking inside of him. He tried shifting his weight around to relieve some pressure off his outstretched arms, but his muscles only hurt worse. Flashes of memory surfaced, slowly coming back to him. The man in the chair must have replaced the ninja standing there behind him, still faceless with white masks, but not wholly emotionless. There was a sort of swift excitement coursing through their still bodies like most men held when they faced the shiroi kiba within such close distance—Sakumo could remember as much. But the battle, before he'd woken up in this place…why…had his men left him…? Was there a reason? Was there a logical reason for it? Why was he forced to choose between…That's when it hit him—he failed the mission—he'd failed his given orders. But he'd tried to have it both ways, didn't he. He_ tried_ to… Shin…was Shin safe? Was he even still…_alive_…?

The Shiroi kiba looked up again, with an instant grudge of anger the jackknife was being toyed with like a cheap trinket in front of him. "If my presence truly honored you, I wouldn't shackle myself in a hold such as this. Is this how you treat all your 'honored' guests?"

"I never have any," he shrugged. "At least not from Konohagakure. You're the first one. So yes. I suppose I do. You have no idea…_Our_ guys don't even know where you are. Just me and the team here," he said.

"And…what of my team…?"

"They should be arriving back in your hidden village in another day or two, I would guess. I always wondered something about that too—why do they call them 'hidden' villages, if everybody knows where they are?" Kitano smiled.

Sakumo knew he needed to ask something he dearly did not want to ask, "And your guys…are they...Did they…"

"The first wave crossed the border unhindered just last night. They should be raising holy hell by now."

Though he tried not to show it—Sakumo dropped his gaze, feeling the strength voice in him, the rest of it, with his spirit, dropped like a sieve down past his knees and on to the floor no less like vomit. He closed his eyes, picturing the men, women, and even children…He picked his head up and his right eye narrowed in a failed wince. "Don't blame me," Kitano resumed, looking down at the pocket knife with a slight smile. "Perhaps they should have let you go it alone. You discarded the first wave of suna's forces quite well back during the second war. They shouldn't have burdened you this time with unreliable, selfish teammates who were foolish enough to be captured before you could carry out your plans."

"Hey—" his indignance quickly flattened. Every word he said was true. "But…"

"Shiroi kiba…" he said, with a warm smile growing on his face with some awe. "I have heard of you since before you even had that name, when you took on one of the Zensare brothers back in Suna. And then Arashi, of the Azurano? That man had cheated my father out of his prize katana in a game of shogi."

The man paused here, as if waiting for him to respond. Sakumo glanced upward and muttered, "Oh. Sorry _stupidity_ runs in your family."

Kitano smiled. "And then the crises in taki, with the mine there, on the west side. How you saved those men, making sure they could return home. How brave you were."

"Yes, I get the picture," snapped Sakumo angrily, hoping his anger could rise a remnant of chakra he knew he had in him somewhere. "I'm sorry my life has become an open book to you. I did not wish it to be."

"I know. You wanted…to follow your _father's_ footsteps."

Sakumo forgot the aches and tearing of his muscles and pulled against his hold and glared, "You bite your tongue now, that's enough said you cheap bastard."

"Take some solace that _I_ took you," Kitano responded calmly. "Kumo jounin would have hung you by now and paraded your dead naked body in the center of their march."

Sakumo eased back, slightly, gingerly finding a position where his arms might not ache so badly; it was near impossible. He listened to the words again, and looking down bitterly at the floor, Sakumo asked mildly, "You're not with kumogakure."

"Well…let's just say I'm outside the circle, like a ground slug is to a sloth. We have the same properties, but different ways of getting there."

"Then you work outside the system."

"Yes."

He would have guessed as much. And Sakumo could easily sense, now, the man was telling him the honest truth, or about as straight as it could come, considering. Sakumo struggled against the shackles for a moment wearily; he tried straightening his spine to no luck, it only hurt worse and he could feel the horrid tingling sensation in his hands and wrists. Again, all his chakra was still drained from him, unable to produce a rise of it, even with the anger and frustration roiling deep inside of him. Kitano could make it rise like no one else, "So, please, tell me more about your father."

Sakumo cursed at the man in the chair, taking that anger, finding a little shred of chakra there, for the taking. He needed to foster it, make it rise from the tainted blood, and the stinging wound on his chest the wind chakra had caused—"Be civil now," Kitano interrupted, "I only asked you a simple question. Was this his?" Kitano showed the jackknife, "Or was it a _gift_…?"

Sakumo cursed at him again, with even more hatred in his voice, "You leave my life, my family out of this you thug or this place's end will be met by an unfortunate thunder storm that will burn this place to the ground."

"Yes. You do have a record of trying to be thorough," Kitano mused as if the threat held little weight. "should you break out of here, I know you'd try that anyway. It's not something I haven't considered. I've made it a point to _know_ you, shiroi kiba. There is no shinobi like you in all the world…" Sakumo's teeth clenched down tightly, as did his clammy cold hands rolling into fists. "…And that is why I have tried taking precautions," Kitano continued, flipping the little blade out one last time for show, and then encasing it.

"That's damn cowardly," offered Sakumo, through gritted teeth.

"Shiroi kiba…it is…the only way…to _break_ you," he said matter-of-factly in a soft and pointed way.

Sakumo felt taken aback for a slight second, feeling the pain and torture that was already inflicted._ No_, he shook his head. "That will not happen," he said aloud to no one but himself.

"Yes, yes it will," Kitano smiled. "For once your tree-leaf village learns what you have done, you will not be welcomed back there. You have never failed a mission once, shiroi kiba. You have never had that kind of blood on your hands before. You don't have to believe in me to know that kumo ninja are ruthless, leaving nothing untouched, and nothing undamaged. This will be quite the letdown," he finished quietly.

"But—but…no…my team…"

"They are the real cowards, no integrity, strength, nor honor…" he said intuitively.

"_No_…" Sakumo swallowed, coming to grips with what he'd done, with the choice he'd made. "That's not true—No, I can't…" He began to feel anxious, wanting badly to correct his actions, and fight that wave of kumo ninja, with or without his sanctioned team. _Escape!_

"You've been hero for a long time, to the people of Konohagakure."

"I have been _nothing_," Sakumo interrupted heatedly, "but a sorry man, who took a long road of regrets. That is _all_."

"Well said. And sadly true."

"Do not pretend to understand me," he interrupted again, "I may still surprise you."

"Perhaps. That remains yet to be seen."

Kitano stood, and he looked down at the shackled man. "I will see you, a little later." With the jackknife, he left out the door on the right hand side. And feeling the resurgence of that rage, Sakumo struggled desperately to break free. Breaking out now, while it was still early, was the only chance he had. He wanted that pocket knife back so badly, for a lucid moment, the wanting of that pained him more than the state of his body. Continually, he swore he would not let that, or the tsuki blade Kano gave him, idle in the arms of the enemy for long.

But after a while…Kitano did not receive any more surprises.

.

Working the night shift she liked once more, she was settling into the thought it might be another quiet evening under the moon and stars as it had been yesterday, the day before, and the past week. But toward midnight, a man came in, wounded. His right arm was badly burned, under wraps. He was reluctant, or rather flat out unwilling to explain what had caused the wounds and burns. Since she had so much experience, she could recognize instantly they had not been caused merely from the heat of battle. They were from exceptionally close distances, purposeful, and straight: the man had been tortured. She told him to stay put while she sought one of the doctors in charge tonight over the first floor—but by the time they came back, he was gone.

Very early that morning, the news hit the wires, signals, and papers. Since Keiko did not listen to the radio, she heard through word of mouth, just like Sakumo's son did. She didn't want to bother whom she thought of instantly, but she couldn't resist hurrying to the hokage tower on her lunch break—looking around, she did not know where to look until she remembered something. She slipped past all the shinobi and headed down for the basement toward that little conference room she last entered when she was seventeen, meeting Shodaime. Kano silently stopped outside the door, hearing two low voices talking, and then a third, a female. She waited there for a minute until the sounds gradually diminished. The door suddenly cracked open and she straightened, recognizing Homura and Koharu. For a moment, she wondered where Danzou was—he was usually always with those two on business. Before the door closed back on it's own, she caught it and found Hizuren, the hokage, staring sullenly over a small map. The fifty year old looked up, and noticed her, "Oh—Kano…"

"Hello…" she said softly, closing the door. "M-May I ask…"

"I have been up…since one a.m., last night," he said quietly. "And I was told, the…destruction…was very bad."

The air stung her eyes as if it had become some kind of toxin. "But…" A question suddenly entered into her mind: _Had they placed too much faith in him?_ Never. Something else must have gone wrong. "What-What…happened…?" she asked.

"The first cell has stopped their descent," he murmured, staring at the map as if he were blaming himself. "But…" he had trouble forming the answer to her question into words. "His team. They broke up, in…to form an ambush," he said, as if he would have done the same thing. "But, some how…the three…were captured, and the kumo nin began to move on ahead—Sakumo…Sakumo stayed behind, to…rescue them, but Sakumo…" Hizuren said wearily, "…has not been found. We don't…"

Her cheeks grew red quickly in heated worry-she turned away quickly without a word of thanks and after she climbed the stairs and hurried out one of the side doors where there were no ninja around, she slit a small cut across her palm and summoned Korado. The red hunter appeared and looked up as she said, "Find Jiraiya, and send him to the north—Sakumo is in danger." The dog gave a short nod before he started running and he disappeared.

.

Three days of capture turned into four days. And four turned into five, with no surprises, no runs, and no power. Besides the pain, the horrid flashes of memory tugged at him through his veins, spilling blood onto the floor until someone fixed him a tight wrap across his wounds, on his left arm or shoulder, while he was careened on his right side, with chains on the back of his arms and death heavy on his mind. He was beginning to feel useless. "Actually, in exchange for the chance to meet you," Kitano had explained two days ago, "It was a…slight deal with the kumo jounin that helped get you. He wishes to know the location of the two ancient scrolls of the Hyuuga. He knows they must have been sealed away by Shodaime, and placed somewhere in the village, or perhaps just outside. You will tell him, since obviously it's impossible to read _your_ mind…" They'd already tried. He could remember that much. And Sakumo was not telling anything. First the wind chakra was scarred across his chest, and as he'd tried to block it, it hit the corner inside his left shoulder. "And the one thing about toxicity," Kitano's voice lingered on when Sakumo had woken up again, "The body can accept small doses at a time until the doses can be fairly large…" So spoke the man, meanwhile, walking around with the ivory jackknife deep in one of his navy pockets like a stolen trophy. And the boy…standing there for all the men and women and children who had died in the assault—on his watch! The boy, who was so, so innocent… "But I tried," he remembered, muttering to himself in the night, "To have it both ways—I did _try_…" That trying wasn't good enough if they could never scan him to find the evidence. The blood of the young man they killed in front of him stained the floor opposite him. There was blood everywhere, most of it gathered together, deeply embedded into his conscience, sending shocks of tremors through him, along the veins of that tainted, sullied blood, _what do I do,_ he asked himself, lying there with the side of his head against the cold tile. The tremors of instability replaced cold hatred whenever Kitano wasn't in the room. Now his threats spawned from raw desperation. "You_ never_ mention my son in front of me," he'd said, unable to rise his chakra and kill the man right there, in his chair, despite his constant, unyielding, trying efforts; there was like a lock, that had suddenly entered into his chest, just beneath the wounds, preventing him from accessing it. But Kitano continued to berate him with simple questions, asking after his life and family which Sakumo tried to ignore, raising up the screams of torture within his mind so he could block out anything they were talking about, or asking him. He could not speak. He would not tell. And he could not find a way out to amend this horrid, sinking guilt within his soul, having harbored and grown to where all he could see was the death and the blood and their serious demands… "Are we awake this morning?"

"It's not morning," Sakumo spat after a moment. "Are you delusional?" Being caustic was the only way he could cope; it allowed him to build that anger, and shake out the fear and anxiety to let him try once more.

"If I greet you good morning," Kitano answered, "Then it is morning."

"You fucking liar," Sakumo whispered.

"I'm only telling you what will benefit you."

"You poison me, you torture me; I hardly call that welfare," he bit down on his teeth, searching for some way to cultivate that power. He realized soon his body was shaking too badly—he was freezing. The power in him felt too drained yet and loose, like quicksilver, unable to be captured and turned solid without the proper mode.

One half of Kitano's face smiled as he looked down, taking a seat in the metal chair. "I thought you should know (this is also for your benefit), your village still has not sent anyone out to look for you, or recover your body. It's been about two days since all the news hit. No one is coming for you. I just want you to know, though, that I will always be here for you."

The man was the worst interrogator Sakumo had ever come to know, because he was effective. Sakumo laughed softly in insanity.

"I'm please you finally appreciate my company."

Sakumo used those words to try and plant renewed hatred to run off of—the fear and anxiousness wasn't cutting it.

"There. You've quieted. You're ready now."

"Ready…" Sakumo merely echoed.

"To answer a few questions, of course. Or rather, the question…Bring her in," he said to the door on the right-hand side. The trio of Kumo ninja entered in, with a young woman, whom he remembered had been bringing him water, for the past three days. No, Sakumo murmured to himself, his eyes widening. He could not allow them to kill her like they had done…"Wait, wait," he murmured, picking up his head as one of the men, with one kunai only, made his way around the woman, whose face was clear with fear as she stared frightfully down at the floor. "Wait…wait!" Sakumo rose his voice, struggling against his own weight. "I will—I will tell you…I will tell you, just stop, Put it down!"

Kitano nodded, and the blade behind him, in the hands of the special opps man, lowered. "All right," Kitano resumed. "What would you like to tell me?"

"I…" he was thinking very quickly, formulating the plans in his mind. "I…did want to follow in my father's footsteps. I did. With all my heart and soul I did. If you return my jackknife, I will tell you anything else you want to know."

Kitano's smile was almost serpentine. "While…I appreciate this…disclosure…I still do not take you for a fool shiroi kiba, and I do not consider myself one either, especially in the company of you. The moment that little blade is in your possession, you attempt some _crazy_ stunt, kill us all, and set her free. I cannot allow that to happen, so I must refuse your…tempting offer. No. You must adhere to _our_ terms. If you do not, she dies. You know now I am serious."

Sakumo bit back the word 'coward' on the tip of his tongue. Though Kitano had never showed anger, he did not wish to try that route, not when another life was in jeopardy. "Please…" he started, re-formulating his plan, wondering if he had enough available chakra to issue a wide-field genjutsu. "Then-Then you must scan me. It is the only way. Some of the information even I cannot recite to you in full because it is too deeply buried. Too few know about what your jounin seeks…I am one of them. Please. I beg you, just do a scan."

Kitano smiled broadly. "That, too, is unwise. The first moment of subversion, we will act, if you do not already kill us with your chakra…" he said. "I'm afraid you're hapless, Hatake-san. This is the end of the road," he leaned forward, "Whether you chose to admit it or not. There is a right answer now, and there is a wrong answer. With consequence. And I ask you this once last time. You're teammates _will_ sell you out. Why not hint to the good jounin what they will in turn do to you. Nobody will know," he said quietly, with a grim smile.

"No—" Sakumo interrupted, unable to accept the image of Shun ever vilifying him…

"Will you tell us?"

"No—" he said again, and he looked up suddenly in horror, "No! No! Wait—! _NO!_"

Sakumo shut his eyes and tried as hard as he could—freezing the world for a few precious seconds.

"I believe that's one of the worst ways to die. In a genjutsu." And Sakumo wasn't the one catching the blade. A genjutsu.

What they set up afterwards, was the very same.

One of the cloud ninja stayed behind, issuing a low level genjutsu repeatedly for an hour or so until another man came in to take his place. It was a simple genjutsu with a simple message. That's all it was. The ninja behind the mask would say, "Resistance will be punished, cooperation shall be rewarded…" All through the night, they issued it, again, and again, continually. And after the first forty or fifty times of blocking the damn thing, Sakumo was in worse physical and mental shape enough to allow it in, believing he could continue to scream inside, blocking out all the words with rhymes and songs or math problems or stories, but after a good chunk of the night passed by, even Sakumo could no longer deafen his ears with the hackneyed monotony. He was being broken, in a way and means like he had never experienced before in his entire life, where not even the dark crevice on the mountain north of suna could compare to this. He actually wished he were there, near that cabin, alone in a deep dark hole, instead.

.

"Good morning," said Kitano as the ANBU left. The shiroi kiba's dark eyes seemed glassy. Kitano stopped, bent over, and touched the man's bloody shoulder with a light tap of chakra. "Good _morning_," Kitano said again, louder, and walked around to sit, leaning forward in his chair expectantly "I trust you broke well," he said as he watched the shiroi kiba blink slowly a few times, perhaps recognizing the light and room and words other than the spiel written for the genjutsu.

"It's morning," Sakumo murmured, not because Kitano had said it, but because he truly believed it, keeping a small sense of time in his fingers.

"Indeed it is. A correct assumption. Glad to know you're finally trusting me," the man said with enthusiasm.

Sakumo waited all night to say it, "Go to hell," he murmured, blinking upward, transferring his empty gaze out of the cold stupor he was in.

"Well…after your…eloquent handling of the situation yesterday, I imagine you _must_ be feeling guilty. So. I've asked him in early today, so you might own up and begin atoning for your sins. Would you like to do that today?"

"Yes…"

"Come in," Kitano said, and in walked the strongest chakra signature Sakumo had sensed so far. It was the kumo jounin. Sakumo was certain of the fact. And if Sakumo were at full strength, he knew, he could easily defeat them both. He could easily escape them all. This stirred Sakumo a little further toward his true senses and instincts with last night's mantra beginning to drown slowly from his spent system. Continuing to mentally shake his head of it, he heard the young man say, "You've come…so far," continued Kitano with something like satisfied avidity for the capture of the shiroi kiba in his soft eyes, "This past week. I knew it wouldn't be easy, since no one had done it before. But once you tell my friend what he would like to know, I promise you freedom."

"Freedom…" Sakumo echoed distantly, feeling the weight of his body, hisself, pressed against the cold floor…Freedom, he realized more clearly a second time, knowing then, at last, what he had to do to obtain it. God, would it be painful…

"Yes, freedom, to escape where ever you wish, or, you could stay, here, with me," he offered. "Now then, what is it you have to tell my good friend here?"

After a moment, he concluded they had no hostage ready outside the door. In fact, he could sense all three of the ANBU were sleeping on the east side, to his advantage, some area behind him. The rest of the men—seven or eight or so were sentinels; perhaps one was a medic on hand. Places such as this usually had one; they were also indispensable to any professional interrogator… "What is it…I have… to say…" repeated Sakumo almost dumbly.

"Yes. About the scrolls, Hatake-san."

"The scrolls…" Sakumo began to smile after a moment, "Are located…in hell. You must die, in order to see them. And after you get over the unpleasant…roaring fires of that place, I am sure you could learn something. But you will never, ever escape that place. That is the price you shall pay."

After the initial silence, bearing the most pungent smell of chagrin on Kitano's part, Sakumo found something deep within his heart, after he was kicked hard in his gut by the angered jounin. He was picked off the floor by the masked man, with the chains still wrapped around his arms, not attached to the wall, and hit him again, and he dropped Sakumo back onto the floor. The jounin turned to leave, and Sakumo coughed up some blood before he said, "Wait, wait, I am not done with you." The jounin turned with a healthy smirk on his face beneath his white mask, "You're a crazed son of a… aren't you?" The jounin said, and choked him by the collar again, raising him up easily.

It was at that moment Sakumo had some inborn insight, finding this power, only to know at some point, he would lose it. For good. For ever. That was weight with which he felt he could only tap into it. After accepting that term, he could feel the flow of chakra circle again, like it was always supposed to, and so he raised his tender right hand (it still felt like it weighed the entire sum of his pain, and then some), and he placed it over the man's thick grasp. "My mother was nothing like you say," he murmured, and Sakumo smiled and felt the wave rise up, throwing white static all around the room—it shot out the light of the overheard lamp before it surged through the kumo man, knocking him out instantly. He could sense Kitano rise and raise his arms to perform a hand sign. Sakumo was not quick enough after the pain of the after-shock he had not been prepared for—he was hit point black with a gale of wind chakra—Sakumo stumbled backward, within a second, he felt his power waver—that was what was doing it to him, besides the injections; the wind chakra was cutting off his chakra lines somehow. He stumbled, but his hands went behind him against the wall to prevent him form falling. "Do you know…" Kitano uttered in the darkness, "What you have done… You have taken way…the overseer…the one who has funded me…"

"I am about…" the shiroi kiba said in the shaded darkness, "…to take away, your life."

With the short words concluded, Kitano felt a sudden thud of fear while the shiroi kiba approached him.

After he fell, breathless, Sakumo fell on his right knee after him, and searched through the man's pockets—he found the jackknife, and for a moment, his eyes stung, as if he felt for a moment long ago where his father had once held him, warm and tight with his scarred arm when Sakumo was a child, safe, during whatever storm or whatever cold, lonely night the two had to endure alone. Sakumo grasped it tightly, for a moment. Then, he flipped open the blade, and wiped it clean, across the fabric of his pant leg—but he looked down and showing across his shirt and vest the blood of his tortures he realized he did not need it. Using the blood fresh on his chest, flowing down between the blue tears and frays, he summoned the lead dog.

"Pakkun…" he recognized. "I need you…to retrieve the tsuki blade. That is all."

Shortly, the dog nodded almost timidly, and he watched his master fumble a few times in the dark, trying to stand on his own, focusing solely on what he had to do.

_The first obligation,_ the book wrote, _of any prisoner, is to escape. Such must be done in a shinobi's case, for the protection of his own life, and the secrets he carries of both his clan, the country, and the village, he serves…_

When Sakumo stepped outside, with even more blood on his hands at last, he noticed the dawn, behind him, as he sensed it should be, and then he noticed the small brown dog, carrying the grey hilt in his teeth. They ran, until Sakumo quickly could not run, and then walked, until Sakumo quickly could no longer walk, and then stumbled, like he knew he would, through the western mottled forest. He would never make it to Konoha. Never. Not for all this chakra he'd been given closing on him gradually like the shutters of a viewless window. It was going on him now, as quickly as it had said hello with the static charged like that in the clouds above. White faded to dark. "Master—please…" the dog began to say. After an hour, Sakumo's stumbling found him the window view through the trees of the green hills, on the north side, hiding another forestland, further to the north. He remembered passing this way once. The hills, the beautiful mint green hills were so much nicer than the ones of Kusa…the one place he never wished to die in. Besides…who would think, to look _north_, for his body…? Especially since…no one…would be looking for him…

.

Jiraiya searched high and low, and everywhere in between; Tsunade could attest to that, she was a center witness.

.

The men. The places. The faces. Like sheep they'd climb over the green, grassy hills of Kusa, only to be shot down by enemy ninjutsu from the other side. Like nomads, they clustered together, gone south, keeping in formation over the rives, 'cross the sand and back again, to find enemies closing in all sides, and then he faced the first wave of the suna army, alone, lighting the darkened skies with his element as if he were waking a simple thunderstorm for view over the open deserts and then he woke up, sweating and startled, wondering why, briefly, he was back in his father's old house, with his wife, sleeping near, leaving the spot cold where he lie, sitting upright, trembling in the cold suna night around him—thinking anxiously about the men he'd left behind. But it was okay, or so he had been told. He'd been ordered to leave. The war, the war was over. He shook again: not in his heart it wasn't.

When his son was two, and Jiraiya returned from Rain (finally), and still on the hard cusp of trying to finish his first novel (which tortured him _almost_ like _nothing_ else had), he sought the company of his niisan one quiet evening, and though it pained Jiraiya even more to see that field largely gone to weeds and grass even if he had not grown up there, he still enjoyed sitting with Sakumo out on the back porch where besides the absence of that field of bright, golden-yellow wheat, not much had changed. Jiraiya was twenty-six, then, and his brother thirty-six. Finishing the novel with Naruto secretly frustrated Jiraiya to some degree, and that war, too, still lingered on his mind like a cloudy day. Many of them passed, and many of them had gone, but the memories remained: the men, the places (most notably Rain, in his opinion) and the faces; the youngsters, the old men, and the enemy. And also, all the things he and Orochimaru and Tsunade had _done_. The kind of things he didn't think he was capable of. When Jiraiya strayed off topic of his 'Gutsy Ninja' drama, he posed the question best he could, seeking both advice, and some type of closure. His brother's initial silence on the matter caused Jiraiya, immediately, to retract his statement: "I'm sorry—I realize, if you don't want to talk about it…Forget I mentioned it."

"No. It's a valid question," Sakumo said from his reverie (he'd been in this tacit stupor for over a year now, ever since Yoshiko died). Jiraiya had been told by his mother that his ani had gotten better than he was—if that was true, Jiraiya couldn't imagine him acting any worse than he did when they met back in Kusa, by chance. At that time, he'd been told by his mother to smack his brother one. With good reason. "Did you…ever talk to a chaplain?" asked Sakumo.

Jiraiya shook his head.

Sakumo smiled faintly. "Neither did I. Not that it's too late to," He thought for a moment. "I think…I've left my hope in Kusa now for the past, well…heck, it's almost been thirty years. Every time I go…that country has shown me something, whether it be fever, or a good smack up-side the head," Sakumo smiled, proving he remembered.

"Oh—hope you're not still bitter about that…"

"You did…" Sakumo stopped himself uneasily. "I don't hold it…Ah, hell. What the heck. I know I deserved it. I still do. That is my coping mechanism, I think, in part answer to your question. After the war, I used to wake up…so damn anxious," He shook his head in a quiet respite. "I wanted to go back there, to that medical house, where the last battle occurred. Or anywhere but here. You know I was never home. Not just during that war, but so many times, when I couldn't be there for you, like you wanted," His older brother's voice broke a bit as he continued, "That's why, I cannot get over…what happened. I was never _there_ for her, Jiraiya. She couldn't depend on me. I missed—I missed the birth of our son. The look of pain in her eyes…" Sakumo drew his elbows onto his knees, clasping his palms together in front of his face like any child might try and whistle a tune on a single blade of grass. The blade was vacant. And so was his childhood. "All it was…to me," he continued, "Was refuge. While being in that war, on all those missions," he looked down, "I could run from my problems. You may have noticed," he said, also in light of what had happened in Kusa, and in light of all the weeds and grass before them. "But, for the one moment, I could leave it all behind, and live, with her, and the child…I swear to God," he dropped his hands and clasped them again over his knees restlessly. He meant to finish, it had been the happiest time of his life, beyond his ever short childhood. "Yes," Sakumo resumed. "In answer to your question. With…what all I have done, all the damage, and everything I have seen, it has never stopped haunting me. Nor will it ever cease. I…can remember my sensei, once said, and he wrote this in his diary of the first one, he would rather have it haunt him than not," Jiraiya offered a sudden, quizzical look, and Sakumo noticed it, and continued to stare downward. "'The men who are not haunted,' he quoted, 'Are the men who are no longer men, but sadists, who comprise the very darkness a shinobi fights.'"

Jiraiya looked down with a sudden realization he could not form exactly, into words. "Then…we're ok…What we had to do…was…okay…"

Sakumo's smile was faint like the starlight. "You could ask a dozen different men, Jiraiya. They have their sanity, you have yours. It's different for everyone. Even Hizuren deals with it. And he has seen so much more than I have."

"Really?" Jiraiya asked genuinely.

"Well, he _is_ older than me," Sakumo smiled.

A smile slowly spread on Jiraiya's face, too, until he thought of the source of all Sakumo's true pain and torture lately, worse than any war; "Sakumo…if I can say…" he said as unobtrusively as he could, "I'm sure she loved you."

Startled, Sakumo straightened, nearly getting off the swing in a mad haste, but he resolved, for the moment, to sit and kept calm, on the outside. "Well," was all he could readily say, feeling the pain of love still strong in his heart, like the eternal tug of their souls—he looked down at the silver band he still worse as a reminder, imagining somewhere, instead of the drawer, but up in the Heavens, there was the matching one worn by the love of his life—the only love of his like that had held all his pieces together time and time again with grace and patience just like an angel. Mercy. He had to pray for mercy upon his sorry soul. _That_ was what he'd been trying to do. That was his only hope. The tears burned so hotly around his eyes, he wouldn't dare cry in front of Jiraiya.

God, he begged she were here now.

.

God, he thought, _why is this happening?_ Kakashi sweat, peering in now and then through the crack of the door, watching his father lie there in his room in so much pain while Lady Tsunade continued to mend him. He did not know why she would be looking after him, of all people, considering…! Kano stood near him, and pulled the back of his blue collar away gently. "Don't worry," she smiled, speaking quietly, "He will recover."

So what if he did? He was enemy number one in the village right now. Her smiles and her unaffectedness infuriated him. For a whole week—almost—he'd endured the slander, the hatred, the terrible misfortune that his father FAILED. Unless Kakashi showed up in a transformation disguise, his sensei couldn't palaver with the clients enough to shut up and accept his services, let alone his presence. Kakashi turned and ran out of the living room angrily, judged so harshly for all the death and destruction on his father's hands—tears rose behind his eyes, he thought he'd cried them all out already—he ran across the house, out the back door and stopped suddenly, seeing his big and tall uncle sitting on the swing, hunched over, chewing his fingernails anxiously—"What?" he asked tensely. "Did something happen?"

Kakashi's face scrunched in the stillness and he ignored him—Jiraiya would not see him cry, but he would watch him run. The eight year old ran swiftly away, out into the stupid fields to be lost. Jiraiya stood, convinced out of stress and fatigue something was horribly wrong, and he hurried back into the house with the same swiftness, but his mother told him his teammate was still in there, working. Jiraiya collapsed in a chair, and then stood up again restlessly. "Jiraiya," his mother said, "Where did Kakashi go?"

"He ran off," Jiraiya muttered.

"Jii…that boy has been through a lot, this week—"

"So has Sakumo," Jiraiya folded his arms stubbornly.

"Just…show him a little patience, that's all."

"That's it…" Jiraiya heard Tsunade say. Jiraiya burst inside the door first. Sakumo was unawake. For all accounts, he may as well have been dead if Tsunade had not spoken, "I need to go to the hospital, to get a few more things."

"But you've—" Jiraiya stopped himself. Perhaps there were some things he could not yet ask, and more questions he did not want to ask.

"Would you like a hand," Kano offered.

"Oh—sure. If you don't mind."

"But—" Jiraiya stopped them, before they left, "Will he…be ok? He will be all right, won't he?"

After a long pause, Tsunade eventually nodded her head shortly. Jiraiya stared at her ardently, before she turned her head away coldly. Jiraiya looked back—even the smell of the room was like being at the hospital what with the bandages and all the things Tsunade had set up after her first trip to the hospital. "Sakumo…" the white-haired sage whispered soon after he heard the front door close. "Ani…" Jiraiya said intimately, like his older brother could hear him, "You need to get better," he said. His eyes strayed to look over the blood-stained vest, the open green one that Sakumo always wore. The stains had matched the frays and wounds on the man himself, who looked absolutely pale white, like a ghost, and completely emaciated from the past week. His thin frame was already too thin enough. The two had been built so differently, Jiraiya could observe easily enough. The only thing that had been different was their mothers. Jiraiya sat there and wondered what his niisan had endured—whatever it was, it had been a hell of a lot worse in his mind that what Sakumo's son ever had to endure. _Little brat_, he thought. Coming back from the south of Konoha, Jiraiya had not yet heard the villagers' grievances.

Meanwhile, Kano did not have to ask as they walked through the night. "Keiko-san," Tsunade's hands were clasped together one moment, and parted the next, mimicking her unease, "Sakumo-san…endured, much."

"_How_ much? You may tell me."

"I… am not wholly confident…he could ever be shinobi…again," Kano hesitated like Tsunade knew the older woman would. The words, put together, were extraordinarily grave, especially in Sakumo's case. He had always been the 'shiroi kiba', after all. Uncomfortably, as if she'd left a piece of herself back there with him, Tsunade stood by those words. "I know," she almost choked inside. "At first—I didn't want to believe it, but, his…his chakra network was hit very seriously. I, well—"

"It was…severed?" Kano whispered. She'd seen it before.

"Most of it," Tsunade answered, "At least a good part of it. The usual—" She shook her head. "No matter how much I tried, it has not been healing, not slowly, not at all. And I feel…it may not be possible that it will ever heal on it's own—the wounds were far too close, and too deep. I could feel all of the chakra was still there, but without the access points…"

"…It's useless," Keiko answered. "I understand." Though she wished she didn't.

"What will he do?" Tsunade wondered aloud, on all accounts.

"Well…" Kano said, and held her breath for a moment. "He could always…become a farmer."

"Hasn't he wanted to do that…his entire life?"

"It shouldn't be that hard," murmured Kano, "After a while…" she sighed. That 'while' could be a year, or more, considering the extent of his injuries. "Have…either of you told Hizuren you recovered him?"

Tsunade shook her head.

"Let me do it then. It'll give me a chance to think things through."

Tsunade nodded after a moment, and before they parted, the blonde-haired Senju bit her lip, "Keiko-san…" To which the older woman looked back, whom everyone who was anyone in the hospital looked up to so, since she had served there for so long. Even Tsunade admired her, even if she'd once teased her teammate so long ago he'd run back to his mommy after the toughest of training exercises with Hizuren. Kano had been, after all, one of the leaders frequenting numerous med stations back during the first war, and before that even. And in relation to Sakumo, Jiraiya had once told her she had been like a step-mother for him. But Tsunade knew better, "I just wanted to say, that, I understand what Jiraiya's going through. He's been on edge ever since we found him…" She had meant to say, 'the trail of blood' they had found first, which then led them to the white fang, north, toward the hills. "But…" Tsunade briefly looked down, "Once, just a little while ago…" Again, she meant to say, 'when I was talking about your son (who was again trying to get me to go on a dumb date),', "Sakumo and I, were together, talking, and I know why Jiraiya cares about him so. I know…the _bond_, they share."

"Oh…?"

Tsunade nodded.

Kano began to smile slowly. "Well. I'm glad he could open up to somebody. He's gotten so lonely," she said regretfully. "Just like his father."

"Really."

"Yes," she said. "A carbon copy."

.

Tsunade saw him twice already the next day, once in the morning, and once in the afternoon, and now, once that evening, with Jiraiya finally gone to be with his mother, and Sakumo's son still out in the village, training, as far as she knew. The young child was so devoted to all things shinobi. Tsunade was alone with him, and he was waking up again, the second time to her knowledge, and she frowned soberly: he had no idea yet of the slander circulating all through the Konohagakure village. If she hadn't known better, why, it was shiroi kiba that had destroyed those three border towns, not the Kumo ninja, no sir. It was quite bad, even if the situation was entirely tragic. As soon as he blinked his eyes open, he shut them inside the inferno tightening around his chest and body. "Hello, Sakumo-san," she greeted again. She fought the urge, now, to move away his silver-color bangs. But as he blinked again, he recognized again, where he was, and he also recognized her. She had yet to break the news to him about his condition, but he knew.

He wasn't in this much pain to get up and do it all over again, even if the propitious light of dawn was only eleven or twelve hours away.

His conscious had not been wounded so badly to let him sleep peaceful another night, knowing blood, was on his hands, as well as his body.

At long last, this is what his father must have felt: that overbearing torture, that sacrifice, that immeasurable guilt… Shiroi kiba had twisted and writhed throughout his dreams and his conscious mind, watching the hostages beneath his eyelids whenever he blinked, feeling the pain and fear they felt, shaking horridly from the failed assignment he'd abandoned, the loss—the loss of so much _innocence…!_ "Are they—all right?" he asked, in a low whisper.

"They?"

_Did he have to speak it?_ "Shin—the others. I saved them…"

"Oh, your team…" _Oh dear_, she thought. "Um…"

Sakumo closed his eyes for a moment, and then he re-opened them, reflecting the soft yellow light all the more. "My—my son," he suddenly said, more fearful than anything—"Does—does he hate me too?" he tried to end the sentence with a laugh, but it was a sardonic breath, and nothing more.

"Nobody hates you, Sakumo," she said softly.

"That's it—You've done it…" he spoke outside the drops of fire and hell inside him—"You've finally called me Sakumo. Thank you, Tsunade-sama," he said heartfully, as if that had meant more to him in that moment than anything. "Thank you, for healing me, and being here."

"You…you won't heal, properly, Sakumo…"

"I am…aware of that," he said honestly, while trying to manage that pain without much luck.

"I mean it," she grew cry-weary, but it seeped into her voice nonetheless like she knew it would. "I am so sorry."

"Do not be. Not on me."

"_Dammit_," her emotions flooded, "Why do you have to be so damn selfless all the time? Huh? Your history of altruism has—"

"…Ended, obviously."

As if struck by some genjutsu, her body froze as she stared at him, after hearing his cutting words. "No…" she stuttered after a while, "It has not…You did not…I mean—There's something else that's going on, there might have—"

"Tsunade…" he sighed, "Let it go," he whispered. He did not wish to bother her with _all_ of his problems.

"There…" she said suddenly, "You did it too."

"What?"

She flushed, "You called me Tsunade," she half-smiled.

"…Heat of the moment," he said.

She looked away, for a while she did not know whether to cry or laugh, but she knew she did not want to do either. Tsunade looked back at his face again, "Sakumo…do you remember, when, I told you, I loved you…?"

"You never…told…" As if struck by some genjutsu of the limits issued by geniuses beyond Dalzen's level…he stared in perfect silence then, remembering her an attractive young woman at fifteen—she was still beautiful.

She looked away once more with an odd, tight smile fixed upon her face, and never had he realized what a friend she had been—all the while, she cared for him, not just in her deluded teenage youth—she loved him still, and love was an incredibly strong word, particularly for her. He knew she was so guarded, so bold and independent as a woman goes. Perhaps it was inimitably an inherent Senju trait with a Leo's August of passion swept into her spirit. "Well," she said finally, "Remember that." She packed up her things; threw away the old bandages…"Wait," he said.

She stopped, standing there, looking through the door. Sakumo was genuinely speechless while his body was grievously in pain. She looked behind her just as he looked down, unsure of even what to say. Finally he seemed to swallow more than doubt, and he said, "Why didn't you tell me."

She glanced away. "I thought you knew." Tsunade left. _Altruistic…_she could hardly call Sakumo an idiot—_Altruistic, lonely man…_ She met Kakashi on the way out, just returned, and Tsunade told him to watch over his father diligently.

Kakashi tried sneaking past the open door, but heard his name weakly called, like from a floor and another farm away. The eight year old stood in the doorway. "Kakashi, come here." The boy stood there a moment longer, until he turned away and scurried down to his bedroom, leaving his father alone.

The tears behind their eyes gathered slowly—Kakashi's flooded first in pain with disgust, but Sakumo's took a while longer. They rolled off the edges of his eyes in the heavy tug and pull of gravity. Perhaps this was a little like how God felt.

He sat upright, after fighting strenuously and persistently against that gravity, and the pain that continued to circle inside of him like an infinity loop, binding that damn meaningless contract he made when he broke out of that cage and flew away. Damn contracts. He fetched for himself, a sheet of clean white paper and a thin manila folder, as well as the first pen he saw sitting atop the cabinets, and he stumbled back down into no comfortable seat whatsoever. He groaned for a moment—he felt like he twisted something that was not supposed to twist that way. But he pressed the paper against the thin folder that backed it and he began writing out of necessity: it was a mission report. Painstakingly, it was all he knew, all he did, all his team did, when it occurred (as he glanced up at the calendar hanging on the north wall near the short window), and everything he believed. Or at least the points relating to all that happened. Before he was through, he accidentally spilled blood onto it. By that time, he was struggling to keep conscious. A thought then crossed his mind, and though it wouldn't help him any, after his name, he wrote lastly, upon my honor, all of this is true. He then tossed the paper and pen aside for morning when he might catch Kakashi before he went out, and subsequently, Sakumo suffered the consequences of his literal actions—through the night—he remembered, as he drifted and cringed, through all the haunting, horrid memories; Tsunade had once told him, years ago, if he pulled out his stitches, he would have to call somebody else. He did not think, at that moment, he had the capacity for speech.

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"Kakashi—come here."

Reluctantly, the boy stopped, and peered inside the doorway. "Please?" he heard his father ask. With not a loose muscle in either of them, Kakashi walked in, a little ways, keeping eye contact with the bottom of one of the cabinets, to the left of his father. Sakumo had just finished folding the letter, and he was now scribbling (neat as he could while he held it in the air above him as he lay), the name of the person he respected most. "Kakashi," he said hoarsely before he cleared his through (bad idea), "I need you, to give this, to the hokage," Sakumo offered it to him.

Kakashi walked near to his father, and after hesitation, he took it. "What's in it."

"It is…a mission report," he smiled faintly. "Every commanding officer writes one. Please give that to him. He will understand."

"What if…he doesn't?" Kakashi asked seriously, with a glint in his eye of anger and frustration over his father's apathetic smile.

_Do you have no care,_ thought his father, _to all I have gone through?_ Sakumo gazed over his son's stone-faced expression, the only one he'd seen so far without care or concern. However, it was the only expression that truly _mattered_ to him, so he grieved inwardly, when it did not share the love or worry, but the pricking instability marking his white skin, the same as it did Sakumo's own form and conscience. "Kakashi, I love you," Sakumo said, feeling those tears no longer taking their sweet time to fill his eyes, looking at him as his baby boy. "If you can remember anything, I love you, much more than I could ever say."

Red buds suddenly bloomed on the young boy's face, and he hastened out, and ran for the village, stumbling down the lane and forestland as he went, getting lost in the harbor of green and time-changed shadows.

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Alone, Hizuren saw whom he thought was a jounin or chuunin, but Kakashi dropped the façade, and dropped considerably in height. "Forgive me, hokage-sama. This is from Hatake Sakumo," he said, rather than saying 'my father'. Sarutobi noticed the paper was shaking, as was Sakumo's son. The boy ran off as soon as the older man took it.

.

"The original…is safe," Hizuren announced to his fellow colleagues about two hours later; they were Homura, Koharu, and as he personally sought down himself, Danzou, as well as the members of Sakumo's team. "Now that you've all had a chance to read it, I hope you will conclude, now, there is an idiosyncrasy between this page," he flicked the copy of Sakumo's letter with his finger, "And your report," the hokage eyed Shin, the leader of the other two jounin. "I feel it is right to say Sakumo did try and have it both ways, in his words—with sending a clone down to take out, what he remembers initially as about three or four small squads…But it comes down to this: we can mutually agree Sakumo…personally, chose to save the lives of the three of you, before he went to stop the Kumo nin's advance. But the disassociation remains this; Sakumo states clearly, initially, you three did not follow the given plan of attack—"

"With all due respect, hokage-sama—"

"I was not finished," Sarutobi exercised his authority, "And two, the same thing seemed to happen, in his words, shortly after he freed you. When last he remembers catching up with the south end of the squad, where he recalls taking out at least two squads of the men alone before he blacked out. That is two occasions. Now. Talk."

Both Shin and Danzou, his ANBU Root division leader, exchanged quick glances. "Thank you, hokage-sama. First off…" Shin began, "I would like to point out that in his condition, Sakumo-san may not wholly be in the right frame of mind to recall these…memories. What he has endured can cause him to break overnight, as I well know he has done before. The judgment in which he wrote that may not be entirely—"

"As I recall," Hizuren interrupted, "You, Shin, were wounded quite badly. In fact, all of you were shaken up. You couldn't go on, even if you wanted to. But how can you assure us that _you_ are speaking truthfully? Perhaps we are all liars here, but tell that to the near thousand who are dead."

Shin seemed taken aback, so Danzou interjected, "He was merely offering his opinion Hizuren. There has been no one like Sakumo before, in strength, or in power, and as you very well know; Sakumo _resigned_, once, only to come back on after meeting with personal tragedy. Everyone in this room can agree he did it to escape his own problems—even you."

"Yes. The sacrifices the people of our nation have made have been great, and he has had his fair share, Danzou. He has had his fair share," Hizuren said again, staring into his teammate's eyes. "He single-handedly orchestrated the very victory of the second war, sacrificing his own self to ensure this country and this village survived. Yes," Hizuren granted after a moment. "This tragedy outweighs anything of recent year, but some man is lying here, and I would like to know what the hell happened up there."

"Perhaps Murase has a point, though, Saru," Homura folded his arms. "Has anyone here _seen_ the Hatake?" he asked as if it would be a gregariously sick venture.

A silence entered between the six until a voice said, "I have," The voice belonged to Tsunade, accompanied by Jiraiya, both of whom just stepping inside the doorway. "We both have," she said. "And since Sakumo was not admitted to the hospital, I am not bound to report on his condition, especially since there was no official order, from anyone, to recover his body," she eyed Shin. Unofficially, Hizuren had told Keiko, and the red dog hunter went to Jiraiya. "While Sakumo is naturally shaken by the experiences of his outright torture, poisoning, and numerous wounds deeply physical, he is perfectly sound in mind, with memory of the entire month of events and more. He has been tortured before, and he is coping, as he has always done. You will have to take _my_ word for it." she said evenly, with the slight hint of her natural, fiery indignation.

There were times Jiraiya just wanted so badly to throw his arms around her large, full chest and kiss her all over; this was one of those times, but he restrained himself dutifully though he caught both his hands twitching. Had he done so, besides the embarrassment, he would have been beaten to within an inch of his life, just like the one time in that border town… Sarutobi looked a little grateful to her too, as far as a sensei was proud of his student.

"With all due respect, Tsunade-sama, there are things that even _we_ hide," offered Shin, and Danzou, acting as like his lawyer, shot him an instant look of reprisal.

"So," Hizuren said, "Did you, or did you not, follow orders?"

"We did," said Shin evenly. "And Sakumo failed us all. He should have left us for the sake of duty." Swiftly, without reprimand, Shin turned on his heel and the two jounin followed him; Danzou cast a last look toward his old teammate, but Jiraiya stopped Shin by the sleeve cuff on his way out—he nearly spat half a dozen phrases at him, but he only needed one, "If you're lying, I will hang you."

"Jiraiya…" Hizuren said, and the tall sage and sannin reluctantly, let go. "…That's my job," said the hokage.

"Oh?" said Shin, "Then will you hang Sakumo? He disobeyed the shinobi order of code. Will you not bring him before inquiry and try him?"

"Jounin, this _is_ inquiry, as there are two stories in places. I suggest you keep yours consistent, for the time being. The truth will out…accordingly. Dismissed."

The four left, leaving Jiraiya and Tsunade, Hizuren and the other two council members, who also, soon left.

"Can't we scan him?" Jiraiya continued the discussion between the three of them.

Hizuren sighed heavily. "I'm afraid that's not possible. The results of such a scan are not admissible both in our courts, nor the land of fire's."

"What? Why not?"

"Everyone is_ subjective_, Jiraiya," said Tsunade. "Besides, the entire village believes Sakumo is guilty without question. And technically…"

"But! But! That can't be true! _I_ believe him! There must be someone else who does, that could do a scan…what about—" Jiraiya began to think. "What's about Sakumo's old sensei—Dalzen, the Morino—didn't he have a son?"

"I don't believe Teal is in the business of his father's work any longer," said Hizuren. "Teal works as a recruiter and full-time messenger."

"But—Are you sure?"

Hizuren nodded. "Ever since his father passed, he wanted nothing to do with it."

"But…"

"I know this means much to you, Jiraiya," his sensei continued, "But you must exercise caution and patience. I cannot believe there would be a conspiracy here, but if there is…we will find out soon enough."

"Well of course there is…" Jiraiya grunted emotionally, and huffily, he hastened out the door. Tsunade turned, but Hizuren asked after Sakumo, and she told him, "He pulled out his stitches, writing that."

"Yes," said Hizuren heavily, "I saw the blood stain."

"Sensei…do you think anything can be done?" she asked.

"My gut tells me no. I will check each of their bank accounts, their contacts, even Danzou if I have to. I just...No matter what's happened, Sakumo's name is utterly, totally, destroyed," he said in great solemnity.

She frowned, and turned, walking out with a heavy mind into the open hallway, half-hoping to catch Jiraiya. She did. His back was leaned against one of the walls, just before the staircase in the hokage tower. "Thank you," he said heartfully, looking down at her with his intense expression into her nut-brown eyes. She noticed his stripes were growing longer and longer every day. "For what you said."

"If our roles were reversed, you would have said the same."

"If our roles were reversed…" Jiraiya began to smile, for the first time in a while, glancing down at her chest.

She made a disgruntled noise, and tossed her honey blonde hair. "You pervert. "She began to move past him, but he straightened and stopped her, "No, no, I mean it…Tsunade…I still…Well, I still love you. I don't care what you say. I will always have your back. I promise."

Her lips pursed—"Oh…thanks."

He bit his tongue from saying more; her love was so hard to win, even after knowing her all his life, and as far as he knew, no one had yet obtained it.

.

Altruism, she had said. The state of selflessness. She'd scolded him like he gave it a bad name or something. It was the state of pairing himself with his country time and time again, regardless of his own desires, perhaps that was what she had meant. And here he thought he was the only one allowed to feel such relentless pity. The fortitude with which she showed in the duty of that life was the fortitude with which he had been innately given. That power—had it always shown so purely white, driven so blinding like the static in the skies? The blades. The half-ass confidence with which he could combine each of those elements and fight with the best of them, and more often, the worst. So many times had he left his father's own land, to go fight in the name of the village and the current hokage. Yes. He saw the blood stains all of it left him, on the fabric of his clothes, and on the infinite fabric of his thoughts. He screamed, all through the night, beneath his light sleep. He screamed and fitted at the injustices, the injuries, the men, and the evil dreams of them, and as his father had once wrote, men alone were capable of every wickedness imaginable. And so they were. Even Sakumo himself. If one prevailed against that wickedness, on occasion, one might receive a small pocket medal, a small token of honor you could keep with you, out of reverence, and remembrance of a small glory. But if you failed, your son would no longer look you in the eyes. Sakumo moaned.

The looks were quite bad, accompanied by whispering and scurrying when Sakumo forced himself to walk the next morning, without Tsunade's knowledge or approval which she would never have given. He noticed all the ninja, the chuunin and genin, and a few special jounin, a few of whom he recognized, and none of whom held any special warmth for him now. Sakumo had none left for himself, either, walking more in pain than any other state, it was because of that state that he could not travel far, so he made the visit to the hokage tower the top goal.

Altruism, she'd said. His uncle had done it before him, to save his father's life. Meanwhile, mixed between the words and rhymes of his father, he ran fast, chasing after the old and the new under Karada and the rest of the Senju. Saru had left his father's land, because he knew he had not fit in there, like a bird cannot swim in the stream such as the catfish did in the long creek down in the ravine, with a short track distance on either side, widening in some places, shortening in the next easy and slow bend. But that loss was deep. Sakumo understood loss. He could see now his father had that whole thing under him the whole time, bound to haunt him every step of the way, like the shackles and chains of every capture—he flinched. Sakumo understood the haunted. He understood the pain, and he understood everything his father had tried so incredibly hard to say. Sakumo's only regret…was not listening. Never listening—failing to listen. A failure so big, it spanned larger than that of the Great Divide, west of taki. After Dalzen passed on, his mentors, his rock, his purpose was long gone, he'd conned himself into believing he'd had one from the start, wishing only if they'd had more money, Coushander's dreams wouldn't die. Now, money was no issue. And with Yoshiko gone now, he was still wandering utterly purposeless. Now, the only one to tie him down was his son, so concerned with jutsu and ninja and power, like an arrogant, single-minded brat Sakumo so desperately did not want him to be.

Sakumo returned, with not much progress made and no words spoken, and most of all, no words retracted. It was about time he started staying true to his word.

.

That night, while cringingly horribly, silently screaming inside o'er the blood on his palms of the innocents and hostages, and even the damn interrogator, dead now, he took a moment to be utterly selfish and think about himself, the one subject he ran from like it were an Uchiha's angry fire: his whole life had been one of regret, past the age of eighteen where he failed to follow the calling of his own heart. Dalzen would have beat him up, or at least scolded him with that low, omniscient voice of his, echoing from the silent walls of his office... Sakumo had cried a few selfish tears of these in his lifetime, but nothing like this: they ran over his cheeks around his eyes now and down his face without a hard-pressed sob or inclination he'd give one. They were of hard-pressed pity. The deepest, sorriest kind that lived within his soul, having wide harbor after every growing season, every year and battle, feeding jealously on the river of darkness coursing throughout his veins, and the valleys of sorrow through which he crossed, night after lonesome, cold night. He alone was responsible for his pity. _'Nosce te ipsum'_ Dalzen had quoted. Indeed, he thought, as his tears continued to thicken over his quiet and still frame. He had enough of them to spend for the next twenty-five years. His father's field, in shambles. The garden he barely managed to keep going—and growing. No horse out in the little paddock. No more work. No more love. _Dear God,_ he thought. He missed his father more at that moment, than at any other point in time.

.

And so another day passed. And then one more. And then on the third day, he was sitting alone, in the house, in the night, while his son continued to train inside the village. Sakumo's favorite green vest hung mostly clean and good after Kano had personally taken it to the cleaners, up in the open closet it hung almost like the way he'd hang himself now. Sakumo sat with a cool, sharp blade in his hands. Black. As he held it at an angle, the moonlight that refracted in allowed him to see his own darkened eyes, the weary lines, and his pale, beaten reflection. The past two days, the thought had come into focus, sharpened by madness or despair—or both. The past two days, his resilience to sitting upright minus the pain, had grown again, in small measure. For he was only one fine suffering away from seeing his wife again, God willing, in some blessed purgatory he would gladly take up if he could be allowed to wash away all the horrible blood stained on his hands of his failures, his enemies, his regrets; wanting to work the field so badly; through the years, it killed him inside, quite effectively, akin to the memory of sacrifice deep with in his father. Now, he thought, Sakumo would sacrifice himself.

Thus.

He gave Kakashi the greatest gift Sakumo had ever known and never took; the chance, to follow his dream; to be the shinobi he could never be.

"Forgive me," were his last words to God and country, and tacitly, to his son.

.


	46. Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

(_Quick author's note_: Again, never ye fear, Kano is NOT going anywhere, so don't worry, in case anybody was…And Tahle, please please get better!)

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 46  
_**Swing Low, Sweet Chariot**_

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Being eighty, he was well-aware of the fact his wife did not like him working like this, but as he turned the shovel over, he smiled, "Ah-ha, a piece of re-bar…! How the hell did you get in there…?" Kosaka continued digging to pry it out, until he saw his wife coming up the field, with that look in her eyes he could read like his efforts were being to over-spent for something so trivial. "Is lunch ready?" he asked, and she nodded, her lips tightening, to which he assumed were her natural reactions of him at this time of morning as so many years of marriage proved…

But when they came back in and he took a seat at the counter, she said hesitantly, "Kosaka…"

"I don't know where that rebar came from. Maybe from a property that was there before, but—"

"No, it's not that…" she said with a very heavy heart.

"Oh—then, what is it?"

She took a deep breath, and even that was not enough, so she swallowed and started, "I, um, just heard some news, on the radio…"

"…Oh?"

She fidgeted and took a seat opposite him, "It…well it was…about…Sakumo."

"…Oh? Oh…" Kosaka could read the worst of her face, "What—What's happened? What?"

"He…He has…committed suicide…"

Kosaka's old heart skipped a beat in time.

It was not the end he imagined for Coushander's boy.

.

She heard the knock on her door and she answered it promptly. To her great surprise, it was Hizuren, with a very serious and somber expression on his face. "Hello…" she greeted with a helpful smile that faded quickly. She let him in upon his request, and she looked at him oddly—"Please," he began, "I have something to tell you, please, would you sit down?"

Kano did not like being told to sit by a younger man, as Kawazu had once demonstrated; it was exactly the same tone: for her own benefit. Initially, she refused, standing there staring intently, but Hizuren's tone began to show inflections of pleading. A sudden, dark gravity entered into her soul like a black wind, taking away her energy, her hope, forcing her own knees to drop and she sat on the chair behind her, near the dining room table. "What…What…has happened?" she asked solemnly.

Hizuren took a moment—to breath, to exhale some excess sorrow in his own body but the attempt was completely fruitless. "I am so sorry, I bring very…grave news. Tsunade told me. And Jiraiya…found him—they both found him. Sakumo…has…taken his own life."

The hokage could not push down the swell of tears as he watched her first question it—disbelieve it, and then, heartbroken, accept it. Kano cried off and on for hours.

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The funeral, was quite small. He was buried in that cemetery where Rion and Yoshiko lay. He was placed beside her, near the magnolia. And like Sakumo had done when she died, Jiraiya was abnormally absent from this service…

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Between the two boys though, Kakashi seemed in the most danger. The ugly sculpture of pain stood formed in his heart so much that he refused speak a word of it to his legal guardians which were her and Jiraiya respectively, and Kano Hoseki did not know how legal she was if Kakashi refused to speak to her in between slams of the door to her spare room his own father once occupied for a little while. But that was so long ago, and all those memories made her cry, as if those days had all been in vain. But, she would have rather cried in disbelief than run away like all the men were doing to her now. Honestly, were men incapable of mourning those they loved? Or was it just an Hatake trait? She settled on it being an Hatake trait—Rion treated his past with sarcasm, even if she knew he was secretly hiding bitterness. Jiraiya continued to be absent for four days, after which time Hizuren finally received word his tallest student had just rendezvoused with Orochimaru, to the north, who had been actively driving the Kumo nin from the borderline with success. Tsunade went off to join them, and Keiko did not see her son return until the weekend after his birthday, the sixteenth. At which point Hizuren met him and scolded the white-haired toad sage for running off on his mother like that, at which point Jiraiya would have walked out after dropping the report on his sensei's desk had Hizuren not stood and caught his sleeve. "I'm serious, Jiraiya," he said solemnly. "You are not the only one who is grieving."

Jiraiya choked on his answer. It wasn't anything worth saying anyway…

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_Wanted: New apprentices for the intelligence and interrogation wards. Must be at least genin level and possess a strong mind and spirit with interests or skills for genjutsu, and mind-scanning. Contact Tatsuno-sensei in the main office._ "Oh," the young dark-haired boy said. "I can do those things; I'm really good at genjutsu," he said to himself and he smiled, feeling appreciated that his skills were valued.

Teal noticed what his young son was looking at and read the flyer. It only took him to the first line before he suddenly yanked on the boy's blue sleeve, and tugged him away, "Come now, you don't want to do that, it's far too dangerous. Come on."

Unwillfully, the young boy allowed himself to be pulled away, but his dark-eyed curiosity did not—"But ojiisan used to do that stuff," he murmured and his father continued to guide him away. "It's far too dangerous," Teal over-spoke him. "Come on—Your mother wants us home in time for dinner."

Ibiki looked back at the crisp white flyer taped onto the glass of the shop: _with skills or interests for genjutsu, and mind-scanning…_

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Young Asuma was pouting. "But come on, I can't see why I can't go with you."

His father smiled, standing in front of the mirror. "Because. It is far too dangerous for a young boy like you."

The eight year old frowned unhappily.

"You know, the situation to the north is not stable yet. Besides, I highly doubt the temple would accept a guard of eight years old, without a chuunin certificate."

"Yeah… but the hokage needs an escort, doesn't he?"

"Again. I don't accept genin of your age," Hizuren smiled. "Now. Give me my headband, and I'll be on my way," He noticed his young son began to grow a crafty look across his face, after being showered with such disappointment. "A-suma…you didn't…hide it _again_, did you…?"

Asuma ran out of his bedroom.

Hizuren stood there and rolled his eyes, wondering where he might look first.

.

Kano Hoseki entered in to the hospital quite late that night, with a half moon and sky full of stars hanging low and twinkling over the shinobi village. And way in the middle of the air hung Naga, atop his mountain as Takeshi once foretold to his boys. A few of the doctors nodded a familiar 'Hello' to her as she passed through the halls purposefully. She nodded to them and smiled back. One of them told her Kawazu had just gone home for the night, "What brings you hear Keiko-san?"

"Oh, a friend," she told him. She walked into the cafeteria at eleven-thirty after visiting with a few of the long-term patients on the fourth floor, and waited, watching the open door for someone to walk in, someone she'd been told, had skipped work for an entire week, and did not return until two nights ago, silent as a flower petal against the afternoon sky. She was auburn haired, with a pretty face. And she walked into the cafeteria some minutes later, and the older woman could finally see it clearly on her face. Nora's eyes were nearly half-closed, languishing in misery and depression of the most acute kind. Her gait was slow and stiff, and she was wearing a hard, sorrowful frown. Minding her business, she got herself a tray, and Kano waved to her, and the auburn-haired night nurse finally noticed. Nora walked over, and genuinely surprised, she said, "Ms Keiko? What…are you doing here?"

"Please, sit; I confess I came here because I wanted to see you, how you were doing."

"Oh…" her expression dropped to gloomy levels once more. "Oh…"

"Are you all right?"

"Well…I know what's being said, but I didn't do anything wrong, honestly. I did ask for that week, but Yohara just forgot, and I just…" Nora caught the concerned look on Keiko's face, as if the beam of soft sunshine were melting her exterior, "Oh…" Nora sighed, "I have never felt more miserable and…depressed in my entire life," The young woman bit back some sorrowful tears, "I even thought of just quitting," she stared away. "I just don't know what to do anymore—and…I cannot believe—I cannot accept…what…he…did…" her voice fell to inaudible levels.

Kano did not know if she was referring to the failed mission, or what Sakumo had elected to do about it. Either way, Nora had been affected profoundly. Of course now, approaching a month after Sakumo committed suicide, the ideas and rumors were still viciously being circulated all across town and in the nation and beyond. 'His heart was never in it.' It'd taken them this long to notice. Hearing that only made Kano angry. A few even held he was unstable from the start 'destined to go wrong', and some of the worst vitriol was from some of her own doctors here in this building, Nora's father being one of them to tout Sakumo's medical record. And of course the resignation, 'and look how life treated him then—eleven months later, his wife dies. I feel sorry for that guy.' Said a radio personality. So much pity. So much empathy.

"Did—did anything come, of the inquiry?" Nora asked, after a moment.

Kano shook her head. "Sarutobi said he would let me know. But there's…well…"

Nora looked down, feeling even less hungry than when she first picked up the tray. "Well…" the young woman continued in her reverie, ignoring a few glances from her colleagues, "I just, feel, so lost. I don't know what other line of work I could pursue, if at all…" she understated.

"I know what that feels like," Keiko smiled, for the sake of it; "Please try not to worry. You may not feel happy, but you're bearing it. And I'm so glad and grateful somebody else cares like that as much as I do. Don't feel bad."

Nora looked at her, and admired the woman's bravery while she was breaking inside. The young woman started downward again, and grimaced, "I wish I could have done something. Anything. He would have done…anything for me, I know. I wish…I wouldn't have lost touch with him," She held back a sudden sob, and tried to control her unyielding grief and sorrow—"I just didn't—I figured he was too important, with so many other things to do…I wish…"

"Sakumo…" It was difficult saying his name. "excelled, at keeping himself so private, and I think that… was his greatest weakness. I wish…" she smiled briefly, in sadness, "I could have changed something—talked to him more often. I tried, pointing him toward you, I was so sure he liked you…" She hesitated. "I tried pointing him toward…anybody…" Kano said with a sad smile. "I refuse to believe anyone's plight is solitude."

A tear ran over the edge of Nora's cheek, and silently, a few more fell she brushed away with her sleeve. "Oh please…do you have any idea…what I should do? I can't stand it here anymore, I really can't. I used to love this place. But I just can't, now," she shook her head. "I can't go on here."

Kano gazed at her, and thought for a moment. She began to think back, when most she felt that way, and she decided the epitome of feeling so lost as this would have been before Kiri, where she was beginning work, beginning a career herself at this very hospital, in the tall shadow of her father—she was excessively clumsy back then, weak-hearted, with a slight fear of blood that was anybody's but her own, and being treated like a child, incapable of doing anything on her own, she felt blessed to have the Kiri mission offered to her. She couldn't stomach open surgery back then. She was rarely seen as anything else but her father's daughter. But one afternoon, along came Saru-Shin with a slim folder in hand, offering her six short months of freedom, under his command. So she took it. If there were only some wide-eyed, crazy man like Saru left to give this young woman a healthy direction… Kano thought for a moment more. "I've got it…" she said, and looked at Nora, "What if I could write you a letter of recommendation to the med-station on the north-west side? They're back up and running now, and I'm sure they could use someone like you—would you take it?"

"The… medical station…?" said Nora, completely surprised. "Why, I, never thought …"

Kano began to smile, "Besides the mission to Kiri, a long time ago, the med stations were where I found my feet, and my calling."

"Yes, yes, you were the premier doctor…"

"So?" Kano smiled.

"Of course. I will accept," said Nora, finding a glimmer of hope in her eyes regarding her future. "I just—I couldn't thank you enough, Keiko-san. I hardly know if I'm qualified…"

"You've worked here for long enough, I know you'd be exceptional out there. It's just the same as in here, but with a hundred times the excitement…" she grinned.

"Thank you—oh thank you Keiko-san."

And, Kano smiled to herself, thinking fondly over her Rion, _you may find someone new_. Hard luck cases always made it to the med stations. It was a rule.

Keiko came back to her home quite late—until midnight she had stayed, and as she turned down the lane, she could see across the field a faint light sparking deep within the trees. She knew it must be from her son's tree house, but the cold chill in the night air was telling her it could be a mysterious enemy ninja, luring her in. But still, the thought (and image) of her tall boy, so incredibly grief-stricken overcame that terror lurking in her mind, and she walked across the field and into the dense, chirruping forest. The moss, grass, and ground were all damp and dark, and the bark like the hangings of brown scrolls, with knots and writing illegible, but perhaps showing cursed seals and forbidden jutsu, amorphous and changing. The branches above moved and creaked intermittently with a moving owl, bat, or wind, and the crickets paused their songs where she walked. Though it became immensely dark and foreboding, she followed the light emanating from the small house in the old, tall tree.

"Jiraiya?" she said softly, and finally had to call his name again louder for him to hear.

He leaned over, "_Mom?_ What the heck?" he looked down at her down through the hole, "Holy crap, you scarred me—What are you doing out so _late?"_

"I was talking to a friend."

"In the dark? Isn't that dangerous?" he hopped down from the house, "Oh mom, you shouldn't be out at night, this late, with strange men. I've told you before."

"No, silly," she smiled, "What are you still doing up?"

"Um—me? Oh…Nothing…Just…nothing…"

"Well, in that case, would you walk me home?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "You just scared me, I thought maybe something was wrong, like you were possessed or something… Who did you need to talk to?"

"Well, a woman—"

"Women are more dangerous than men," Jiraiya interjected. He had the scars to prove it.

"It was at the hospital."

"Oh," her son said dumbly. "Nevermind…"

"Jiraiya…I wanted to talk to you, too, you know, since you keep running off…"

"Aw, mom, can't we just put that to rest?"

"Relax, Kakashi isn't staying with me at the moment. He left just yesterday, when you came back, and he'll return tomorrow evening."

"Oh…darn…" he muttered to no one but himself.

"Jiraiya, I wanted to talk to you about what...your brother left, in his will."

"Mom, I really _don't_ want to talk about this. Seriously," he said adamantly.

"Fine but will you at least come by tomorrow?"

"Fine, fine."

She sighed, to herself. Her son walked her to the door and said goodnight, and once again, she had the lonely house to herself, shedding a few inescapable tears that needed to be spent. She wrote down the reminder to write the letter for Nora, and Jiraiya wrote down useless banter back in his tree house, in his notebook, which he tossed aside. "Second-rate _trash_," he smiled grimly, and too, had a rough and uneasy night, surrounded by the darkness and crickets.

.

She waited in, the next evening, in the mission's office, for the four man team to come in. Finally, she recognized only Kakashi's sensei come in, and she walked toward him, and he told her he'd just send them all home for the night. Quickly, she hurried outside, hoping to catch up with Sakumo's only boy. Precious as he was, precious went his thoughts in a dynamic flurry of hatred and confusion, which were two strong words for a boy of his age, but two she didn't put past in the mind of an Hatake. Perhaps it was lucky she was experienced…? From the corner of her eye, she caught the boy heading into the more urban side of town, which was an usual turn. She caught up with him, "Hello, where are you going?"

He turned around, with a red look just above the line of his mask; it was a look like he'd been cornered—"Um—nowhere," he answered innocently, and turned the opposite way, and followed along side her obediently. She didn't approve of the young man's habit that was his father's, and even Coushander's long continued habit—that mask. Tight across the top of his nose, he was considerably more tight-lipped when she asked after his mission. For the briefest second, she nearly thought she was conversing again with Coushander, before he broke in the way he did in the hospital. "Must have been a quick task, then," she remarked, and Kakashi stayed silent.

She had hoped her son would be waiting for them, but once again she had to call upon him and entice him in with food, "How much take-out have you had? Honestly Jiraiya, I'm only a bloc away. I don't want you eating all that salt sweetheart."

"Aw, ma," he rolled his eyes.

She began to smile, and so did he, faintly, as they entered in to their home.

But dinner was on the quiet side, as she (and mostly she alone) talked about certain patients at the hospital, and the general news (did she see in the paper yet again Konohagakure needed more street lamps? Jiraiya laughed, softly); but she stayed away from all things relating to the north, and so did her son. And at the end, she asked (or nearly pleaded) Kakashi to stay put and with her own reluctance, she fetched the papers in the folder, in her room. Even Jiraiya began to flinch away until she said as she set them on the cleared table, "Now please you two young men, don't make this difficult for me, because it already is." For her sake, Jiraiya stayed glued to the chair obediently while his nephew looked over, "What are those?" he asked.

"Your father's will."

The young boy's face suddenly drained to pale, like a chalk white, he was immediately silent. Jiraiya's leg twitched; for the life of him, he did not want to be there—neither did his nephew, at least that much they shared in common. Stiffly, the young boy shifted, but she was able to stop him in time, "Please," she said again with faint smile, "Sit down now, this won't take long, I promise. I just wanted to tell you both…what…it says."

Kakashi sat, and slowly, he stared down at the table.

"The land…" There was that short pause she took after she spoke the words she had to take a quick moment to overcome. Maybe she might never overcome it. She swallowed, and her eye caught notice of the picture frames on the shelf in the den. She looked down, and tried it again off the white sheet. Perhaps it was déjà vu, "The land, and the house, is yours, Kakashi, and so is your father's blade, the tsuki blade. He wanted you to have it. The jackknife…Jiraiya, is yours."

"No—" He shook his head, wrapped in a tight coil of inner emotion. "I won't take it," he refused.

"Then…" Kakashi spoke up, "Can I have it?"

"—Yes," she nodded after a pause spent watching her son, who objected no further. "Yes," she said again, as if she hadn't been sure the first time. "And, um, this," she held out an envelope for the boy, "Was left, for you."

"Me?" Kakashi took it—the only thing written on the face was his name.

"Is that it?" Jiraiya squirmed—before he got an answer, the young boy produced one for himself and hopped off the chair, scurrying back to his room.

"Um—well, Jiraiya—I wanted to tell _you_ something—"

"What?"

"Well," Silence seemed even more deafening with Kakashi gone—"We have joint custody—we do. After I die, the boy will be all your responsibility."

"What?"

"It was Sakumo's intention, to put Kakashi, solely with you."

_"Me?"_

"Yes…Will you…Would you—?"

"No…" He changed his answer softly, "I mean…"

"Well he can't be raised inside a tree house."

"Sure he could."

"_Jiraiya_," a smile flickered for a mere moment on her lips.

"Stranger…things have happened," Once again, he sobered up to the very thought. "…I can't take care of him."

"I know you can't."

"So! There's nothing left, then…"

"Jii…"

Recklessly, he stood. "Sorry," he apologized. "Let me think about it."

"…All right," she agreed.

.

Five days later, on a quite cool morning on November twenty-third, she said goodbye quite early, in the morning, to the auburn-haired girl with a small shoulder pack slung across her back. "Thank you again, for this opportunity, Keiko-san, I'm so grateful. I feel like I owe you—I'm going to try my best."

Kano smiled, "Just take care, all right? I know you'll be fine."

"Thank you, so much."

Meanwhile, Kakashi was training in the open field near her home, half his young heart into it, and other half plain lost like a lone calf atop the canyon walls somewhere on the west side, crying while the vultures were close, and the coyotes, were closer. Angrily, he threw the tsuki blade at a wooden post erected some time ago in the grassy field. "I _hate_ you," Kakashi spat upon it's handle, directed at the person who formerly was in command of the short blade, "I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ you!" He caught his breath from the roil of animosity inside his stomach. The anger caught and rolled over through his veins. Kakashi let out an exasperated cry of anguish, letting that hatred permeate out into the air around him. He had to control it somehow, and he hadn't been doing a very good job of it. But, he collapsed down for a moment, and felt a little bit less heavy of it, which his sentiment now known to the empty grass field, and his body resting flat on the ground, tears at bay in his eyes. For it was true. He believed it genuinely. He hated what his father had done, the tainted blood, the tainted name, how dare he inflict that upon the star student of Konohagakure—or at least the former star student. It was still too difficult to be accepted on certain missions he'd wanted so badly. "I hate you," he said again, evenly. "And you hated me." And as soon as the words left his mouth, he was remembered of the memory shortly after his father returned home, pale and thin, but in his eyes his father told him he loved him. Kakashi never before doubted it. But that _couldn't_ be true. Not after the mission…

Sakumo had never let him shine. From the very start. "There are other ways of living out a good and decent life."

"Yeah? So why aren't _you_ working the fields?"

"That…You know my reasons. I'm too powerful. Point is, if something _were_ ever to happen to me, I would be doing it full time. I make few enough trips to Kujira as it is—we have everything we need right _here_. Life isn't all about being shinobi, Kakashi, when will you learn that."

There was no cruel tone inside his voice. Only concern. _Cruel_ concern; that's what it was. Sakumo never recognized his wonderful, innate talent. _How could he? How dare he!_ Kakashi let out another angry grumble, as if he were trying to imitate the wolves and coyotes inside his own village. Point is, his father had been a weak man. That's what it was. He was too sensitive, too caring, to follow rules. The rules! "How can anyone _not_ follow _rules!"_ Kakashi exclaimed angrily, with those hot tears burning at the back of his dark eyes.

He reached into his side pocket, and he did not feel like throwing it far, only hard. So he threw it fast at the wood post hard as he could, actually feeling pain with the tight twist in his muscles, he was hoping to hear a hard knock against the ivory shaft when it hit, but he missed and it skidded somewhere in the dirt, beneath the grass. Kakashi growled and picked up the tsuki blade and continued on without a second thought, owing the miss to his rage: he would not miss again.

.

Sarin's woods were very quiet these days—at least deep in the night, where the breath of one's own was too loud, and too cold underneath the brown spires of endlessly tall, looming trees, spanning their fans of dark green leaves like unruly vines across the blue sky, unseen. After the unexpected death of her best friend's love, Sarin's niece figured it was time to bring students, mainly genin (she hoped) to the woods during the day for training exercises. Since marrying a Mitarashi and having a little girl of her own, she'd been looking for something else to occupy herself rather than the day to day at the Academy. She guessed the search really began when her best friend died, over seven years ago.

So during the day now, she and her husband and her brother oversaw the exercises of the green genin, and they were incredibly green like the new sprouts finding spotty sun and cold above the soil. There were many young men yet that had not seen war or strife, nor experiences it. Her uncle's woods were perfect. Her brother had even suggested a tower be built in the very center, alongside the river, but Azami disagreed. Though she wanted change, she liked the forest for what it was. The ingrown terror should not be tamed by human hands; even Sarin never dared trod an inch where there ought not to have been a human breath in the air. He once wrote a short article, about the mystique of the place, coordinating with fundamental rules he could not change, nor would he ever change. The forest was too dark, and too deep.

Sometimes, Azami felt like she just longed for that old-time feeling.

.

A picture of his grandfather (whom he never knew, but felt as if he did somehow) hung in one of the offices as he passed it, he looked up and smiled, seeing that same picture whenever he was in his father's room. As Ibiki came closer, his grandfather wasn't really smiling, however he was not frowning, either. It was that odd mix his father mimicked in familiar fashion. Ibiki enjoyed watching his father talk to people; he was very effortless at it, subtly charming, but cleverly able to hint, to add, subtract, and multiply several possibilities and ideas at once. Ibiki was much like that too, more than his older brothers, but maybe not his sister—women were on a whole different level as far as brain waves and emotions. Sometimes he imagined they had too many of each, leaving too little room for the simple facts. Still, his sister was good at details, and she was even a little shrewd, in her own way.

Tatsuno finally looked over his desk as he stopped writing; "Hm?"

"Hello, sir," Ibiki looked at him. "I want one of those application forms, please? For the new apprentices."

A small smile crossed his lips, "Who are you?"

"Morino, Ibiki, sir."

"Oh yes. I thought you looked familiar," Tatsuno reached over on his right on the small desk toward the stack of clean white papers. He handed one down, and the young child took it. "Anyone under sixteen needs a legal guardian's signature."

Ibiki's black brow furrowed when he looked down at the bottom: perhaps his mother might sign it.

"Going to follow your grandfather's footsteps, are you?"

"Yes sir—I hope so sir," he looked back up to Tatsuno. "Only my father…does not like this place."

"Doesn't he?"

"No sir. He says it's dangerous."

Tatsuno resisted the urge to glance sideways at the boy's grandfather. Tatsuno was well aware of the tragedy that befell Teal's father all those years ago; almost a quarter century had passed without their greatest, most skilled man of the mind. Expectations of men always seemed too high to him these days, but anyone could concur Dalzen had been the best of his talents, able to see through any genjutsu imaginable, where most men would fall prey to even the simplest of illusions. The man had an inherent knack for discerning illusion from reality. Tatsuno knew not where it'd come, but for the moment, perhaps, it seemed instinctive, borderline hereditary. He remembered a student of the Morino once told him he thought pain was the answer; "Pain can teach you what's real, and what's not. That is the simplest answer. Do you remember the old county fourteen incident?" Interrogator Kitaro looked at him intensely with round dark eyes.

"Oh—no."

Kitaro lowered his voice, "Dalzen was from there."

"You mean…the land of wind?"

He nodded, "The old wind republic, as was, just on the other side of what's now river country. Just to the north of the Wakasa river. He joined up with Konohagakure after the locals sided with Suna. Both his parents were killed over there. Martyrs."

"Oh…I did not know."

"He knew a thing or two about the character of men. Sugita…" the man pronounced with sorrow in his voice, "Was the last case he worked on. That young kid was screwed and sealed up inside six ways to Sunday, but he had the information we needed to solve the Hotaru case," The man's head lowered. "I still feel so bad…for calling him in."

But Kitaro died back in the second war, along with so many other good men. Now there were few men, outside a young Yamanaka fellow with any potential whatsoever to be in this division. The mental dexterity and fortitude required of them was too great, and the supply had steadily become shallow, waning especially after the war, hence the need for so many notices around the village. "It is dangerous," Tatsuno responded outside his reverie. "Very dangerous. However. It is highly important work, for a variety of reasons; perhaps the most important one being the security of our village, and of our country. For that reason, I consider it the most important work of all," He looked down at the boy, and the child's attentive stare agreed with him. "Be patient with your father," advised Tatsuno. "I know this is not an easy subject for him."

Ibiki nodded, "Yes sir." And he walked out with a nod and a clear mind. A determined mind.

.

Walking through the field on his way to his old house, he'd already made his decision when he found the white handled blade near post. With care like he were handling broken glass, he wiped off the dirt from the face with the fabric of his sleeve, and around the small carving of the wolf's head, and abjectly, he frowned. Jiraiya knew his nephew must have left it there, in anger or disgust, or both. Or perhaps a feeling of retribution, meaningful only if his uncle had not by chance, happen to see it. But finding it did not influence his decision in the slightest: he already knew the boy was a spoiled brat. So with sadness, he pushed both the pocket knife and tears down inside his pocket and would leave them there until he returned to his tree house later. But for the moment, steadily, he walked over to his mother's, his resolutions firmer now.

She was clearing off the table when he entered. Keiko looked up and smiled, "Would you like a plate?" she asked him, and her tall son shook his head. "No, ma," he said slowly, "I've come for Kakashi. I've decided. I _will_ be responsible. I will take care of him."

She dropped the plate (slowly) back onto the table as she heard her only son speak. At first, she wasn't sure whether to believe him, until she realized the fact he still lived inside a tree house his half-brother built in the first place. "Jiraiya, you can't—"

"There's _plenty_ of space in there for the two of us."

"Jiraiya," she smiled, "No—there's no way! What kind of home is that?"

"A humble one," he answered readily with a smile. "Think about it. It's what the kid needs most right now. He needs to be taught humility and forgiveness. There's no better atmosphere, and I am sure, now, I can teach him these things."

Despite a little nagging feeling her son was being somewhat surreptitious about his intentions, or became someone else for the sake of the argument, slowly (and reluctantly), she did agree; her son's wisdom in his words being the main reason she could believe him. "But it will only be a _trial_..!" she reminded when she watched Jiraiya and the young silver-haired boy walk on across the land and into the field, and the dark green forest. "Oh dear," she murmured, a faint smile trying to get free.

"Ok," Jiraiya announced to the boy alone as they stood underneath the small house. "Let's work out a few things. Number one, you are _never_ to come here. Number two, you are _never_ to bother my mother _ever_ again. Number three, we're going to take out a sum of money every month so you can stay in an apartment house in the village. Number four, we're going to pretend to be _civil_ to each other whenever we meet, because frankly, I don't like you, and I know you never liked me. Is all that understood?"

Shaking slightly with wide eyes, Kakashi nodded.

"We're going to _pretend_ you stay here, that's all. I have already withdrawn a sum for the first month's rent," Jiraiya pulled out bills from his pocket. "Go into town, and get lost."

Still shaking as if he'd been hit several times over with a ten pound sledgehammer, Kakashi took the money, his backpack, and did exactly as his uncle commanded.

.

A few days later, she happened to find some papers Kakashi had left behind in the spare room—they were past mission papers, overviews, stubs of what he'd done in the past month, but what caught her eye was the familiar envelope she'd handed to him when she talked to the boys about Sakumo's will. She held it out and sat on the bed, unsure herself what it was—her only guess was that it was from Sakumo himself. She pulled out the one page letter, and swallowed hard when she recognized Sakumo's handwriting.

_Dear Kakashi,_ it began, _In the event I pass on, I want you to know a few things. Firstly, that I love you, very much. I'm not sure how my own father was able to write one of these, but I have that much more respect for him. Don't be afraid of what you may face now by yourself, you may find yourself lost, but you will always have a home, and the love of both of us, keeping after you through wherever you travel. Granted, life doesn't always got how you want. It may seem unfair. But remember this: everything that happens, happens for a reason; there's no escaping it. Though it seems cruel or unforgiving, time can slowly heal these wounds. Life gets harder, before it gets easier. Your mother and I love you, try and let love outweigh the pain. In the rear view, love makes it all worth it. Having someone to talk to, and to be with; may you never forget your friends, or where you come from. Remember your path isn't always set in stone, you can take it where you want to, Kakashi. You don't have to follow in my footsteps. You can be whomever you wish to be. And be happy in your choice, Kakashi. Never live a life of regret. …_

"Sakumo…" she whispered soon after she read the words, continuing on from there. "Where were you…?" It seemed he kept more to himself than she thought. "Oh…" she sighed, hesitating, her heart still in acute pain. _It wasn't the answer, _she thought, thinking over all the responses those that knew him were having. Jiraiya, Nora, Tsunade, everyone, especially little Kakashi. "My little boy…"

.

Kakashi got lost. Very lost. In fact, by the time he turned thirteen, he was so far gone, no person, no soul in the world held out the hope of love or kindness in their hearts, and those who did were completely and utterly useless. That's what he found. Since emotion, he decided, led to irrational decisions on every account and record, perhaps the only thing of value left in this world were the tools to get the job down. Tools were all that were required, especially now, again, in this time of war and strife. Between Kumo and Kusa, and again to Iwa, unrest was everywhere, spreading like the common cold, from one man to the next. Iwa was bribing Kumo to step up games in the north (again), while they began to try and raise 'fun' and hell themselves once more in Kusa and taki. Running their supply lines across the Kannabi bridge on the western side of the land of grass, Namikaze Minato, jounin of Konohagakure, received permission to lead a team there to destroy it while he would rendezvous with the Konoha and Kusa nin to the north, as cover. After spending the night in the border town, his three students were ready, at least until the third one finally showed.

Kakashi became jounin himself that day. After five years of grueling hard work, living on his own, sleeping with his name only, to redeem, to exalt, to uphold as his own in a world where his peers still remembered that dark and cold night of devastation, to the north, when in flashes, the child remembered walking home, to find the result less than three weeks later. But now, today, Kakashi was finally in rank with most of those same generals and warriors. Dissention and failure were his only nightmares.

Dissention and failure, perhaps the two most dangerous words he knew.

.

Jiraiya returned—body first in the hospital that late summer fading, early fall blowing the winds from the west and north, a bit cooler, with change. He had a heavy, sore head, but he had not been drinking. Orochimaru was too sensible, and far too powerful for that. In fact, Orochimaru displayed forbidden jutsu Jiraiya had not seen yet before. Damn that Orochi. After a moment, when the doctor exited, he sat upright, with his head wobbling in the space and air, heavy, seeing Orochi coming at him again in his mind's eye. Jiraiya had come alone. Orochimaru got away. He fled somewhere to the north; rice country? Kumo even? Tsuchi? Taki? Jiraiya could not tell. He let out a heavy sigh, released only from those places of self-failure and sorrow, and gently he bowed his head, holding it briefly with one hand. _I couldn't stop him_, he thought soberly. Jiraiya retracted it and noticed the clean white bandage now wound down his arm. He used his student's own jutsu. The rasengan. It'd taken all of his tricks, the new and the old, the legal and not, but in the end, Orochimaru was that much stronger, and that raven haired kid ran. Maybe Jiraiya had been naïve to think his teammate would be Konoha loyal forever. After all, all the traitors showed their colors back in the war—the second one; not that many in times of peace. Then again, he didn't have the statistics handy to check. That was more Hizuren's field. Hizuren. It seems from Orochi's account, he'd gotten past Sarutobi-sensei as well in a deep dark hole.

Damn Orochi.

Jiraiya took one look around the empty room, and though he hurt all over, he did not need to be there any longer. Most of his wounds were superficial. He'd live. Just as he swung his legs off the bed before the nurse returned to pin him down with a big threatening needle or some such, the thirty-six year old heard voices further down the hall—quickly, he tried to stand on his own, but instantly he felt both dizzy and like he'd just come from ballet practice; he supported his weight with his arms (a worse idea), and knew he was in no condition to escape. He stood there shakily and heard the voices coming closer on the first floor, and to his great relief, he could tell they were not talking about him. In fact, one of the voices sounded very familiar, "Kakashi, please, don't fight." Jiraiya's eyes widened—he managed to take a few steps, staring into the doorway continuously, and saw the troop passing by in front; it was his yellow-haired student, struggling with a young child—silver haired. He was fighting Minato weakly, and two nurses, and one doctor, and one brown-haired little girl Kakashi's age followed at their heels.

Jiraiya struggled with himself again, but with trace of adrenaline surging still through his veins he managed to walk to the open doorway, and watch the five going down the hall, in stops and stutters like a pinball in a machine he found Tsunade playing on occasion back in town—finally it took an injection of sedative by care of one of the doctors just to get the boy in the door—the brown haired girl (to her vocal oppositions) spun around and grunted angrily, and even Minato frowned, but he followed them in as the girl hurried off in an emotional huff of feelings—those things that so often swirled around young women her age. Jiraiya heard Minato walk in—the door squeaked a little, but he did not close it all the way. So curiously, Jiraiya walked on, and peered in, where his nephew's protests of "Don't, please," and "Please—don't." were no more as he was lifted onto the bed flat, with Minato standing near, watching the nurses and doctor with careful blue eyes. Jiraiya couldn't see the details, but it looked as if there was a new scar over the boy's left eye—then the doctor walked in the way and Minato looked up, and did a double-take, "Sensei," he peered over. Reluctantly, he exited the room slowly as one of the nurses helpfully closed the door behind the jounin (and perhaps now the next hokage to be). He went out into the hall, and Jiraiya noticed the young girl giving her sensei a hard anguished expression stiff in her posture, and as Minato could say nothing, she turned into the shadow of another hallway, presumably to cry or something silly like that; Jiraiya did not know her. "What happened?" Jiraiya asked to his former student.

It proved an usually difficult question to ask as Minato sighed heavily, like he'd just had some great loss or failure himself; and he looked around and took a seat on a bench in the space between two walls, where the three hallways converged in a T fashion. The little sitting bench was padded, beneath a wide picture window which white blinds covered, in lieu of night. Minato glanced upon his sensei who sat with him, and he asked, "Are you all right? What happened to you?"

"Um—nothing," Jiraiya verbally shrugged off, unwilling to talk about his venture with his former friend. "…Is Kakashi all right?" He never thought he'd actually speak those words—not after five relatively silent and slow years.

Minato took up the pause to think. "…After a fashion," he said quietly. With great pain and solemnity in his own voice, Minato told him the story.

.

After a couple hours, Kakashi was guided off the bed upon his sensei's insistence, where he stood shakily with a pause, and an intense stare of concentration as he began to walk, where the young brown-haired girl held his arm as he forced his legs to move. Kakashi had been well looked after. Keeping him there further would be like keeping a goldfish in tank where all of the doctors there would stand and look at him behind glass. Jiraiya watched them go—in particular his nephew, in the center. After being hit with sedative, it wasn't a wonder he was so demure. Then the sage sat down on his bed in his own room and thought. And could not stop thinking: what had gone so wrong. It was like Sakumo, in reverse, on both accounts. Hell, today, the entire world was upside down like a young girl's dollhouse, where all the dolls were replaced with those they did not recognize. First Orochimaru, now Kakashi, his nephew… For a moment, he wondered if he should go find Tsunade, and ask her out; perhaps she might say yes finally and take pity on him. Or perhaps she bought a lotto ticket, which might be the winner she'd been hoping for. Lately, she'd gotten addicted to the little stubs of paper with numbers and odds. Pachinko, too, amused her. With a fortune and living like hers, she had the disposable income to waste on those things. She hadn't won a dollar back yet though; at least not to his knowledge. For a moment, he smiled faintly. It'd been a few long weeks since he'd seen her. Maybe he'd see her. Yeah, he thought. He felt a little lucky. And then, maybe, he'd see the boy. Maybe not _talk_ to him necessarily, but get a real, good look at him: from the front.

Jiraiya had a nagging feeling he'd see the same young, ungrateful selfish brat…

He'd worry about that later.

.


	47. Konohagakure Blues

(Quick Author's Note: Is it not ironic that this chapter comes as Kishimoto is telling the amazing story of the night that changed everything, with the attack of the kyuubi and other intrigues…This chapter was written in my notebook miles ago, and honestly, I did not change one word. So I apologize that minute sections of this chapter may not follow canon. Sorry, but I am not changing a single word. And by the way, a fun fact: on MS Word, this author note and chapter begins on page 500.)

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 47  
_**Konohagakure Blues**_

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"Oh my Lord," she said, "Is he all right?"

He'd found out about this black-haired woman's connection to the boy through Hizuren, and since Minato elected to tell young Obito's parents, he knew he should tell her, even though he still did not quite understand her connection, "Sakumo and her were quite close. She was like a stepmother to him."

"Jiraiya-sensei's _mother_?"

Hizuren nodded, and said nothing else to him.

"I'm so sorry," Minato sighed. "Forgive me—you must excuse me now."

"Oh—yes, of course," Kano said, nearly breathlessly—"Thank you, for telling me. I thank you, that you have looked after that boy so diligently—you've saved his life."

"If I had been there…" he shook his head as the words fell flat once more.

"Still—thank you," she said genuinely. "Thank you."

Soon after he left, she went out on her own to find her son—Minato mentioned to her that her son also returned late yesterday night. Eighty-one years of age. She (with great sorrow) no longer worked at the Konohagakure hospital. Quitting the year before, she was naturally left out of all the current news, but found she was not entirely dutiless at home, with cleaning, dusting, and finding new hobbies as some of her sole companions. Just this morning, she finished sewing the top of a quilt she was making from old squares and scraps of fabric. She didn't think she'd take pleasure in it, but she did get a feeling of pride she accomplished the feat after a total experience of making two throw blankets prior. She'd laid it atop Jiraiya's old twin bed for now, where the brown and green tones fit in with the off green color of the walls. It fit in perfectly. She wished she might give it to a white or black-haired grandchild, in fact, she was slightly jealous with her friend Yukie, Takato's wife, who had been blessed with four. Oh…_if only Jiraiya might marry_…The thought reminded her she needed to get after him on that…

For now, her thoughts were in a swirl—good God, what in the world had Sakumo's boy gone _through…?_

First she entered into the village-owned forest, and called out to him in case he retreated there, "Jiraiya? Jiraiya, are you there?"

"…Ma?"

She put her hand up on one of the wooden runs on the tree branch running up through the house and she looked upward, unable to get a good look. "Are you all right, sweetheart? Are you ok?"

"…Yeah," he said after a pause.

"Did I wake you?"

He offered a non-committal noise, like she had, but it hadn't mattered.

"Oh…I'm sorry," she said. "I just came here to tell you Minato told me you'd come back last night. And…he also told me…about little Kakashi…Have you seen him…?"

"Yeah—yeah, last night…I was gonna see him, a little later…"

"All right…Sorry to wake you…I'm glad you're back," It was love she wasn't angry with him much anymore. But she remained extraordinarily disappointed—maybe her son might loosen up to his nephew after what Minato said had happened.

After barely two weeks, she knew Jiraiya had deceived her, taking him in, quite knowingly, too. She hadn't wanted to believe he could do such a thing, but again he'd lied to her, saying Kakashi had run away on his own. When she saw the boy again, he uttered 'sumimasen' and ran off. Maybe now, he might stop running…

.

He'd been running odd jobs for the division now for quite some time; well, for the past five years to be exact, receiving both training and experience. Though truth was the business, he exercised fleetingly little of the stuff with his father, so adamant against the various practices of the ward. But _in_ truth, Morino Ibiki displayed the talent and intuition of his grandfather, in nearly every way. His skills in genjutsu still lacked, and would take time to develop yet to the level Dalzen progressed to, the young boy was already adept at human nature, and the quirks and smiles people showed—even without a sense, he knew instinctively when and how people were lying, and he could do it himself with a straight face now. Hopefully, he could continue doing it, for his heart so belonged in those walls.

.

"He actually used a substitution jutsu today, and it was quite half decent. He said he hadn't wanted to use it unless he was 'sure'," the young man chuckled.

"Really?"

"Mm. He may have potential yet."

"Did he enjoy it?"

Harou smiled. "Oh hardly. Not after I got back at him with a substitution and two earth clones. But, he figured out that one, too."

"Hm," Saru stared out at the night and frowned.

"…What's wrong? Harou observed. "You look more depressed than usual."

"It's nothing."

"You wouldn't have said 'it's nothing' unless it troubled you. _I_ am the soul disenchantment. You are the sprit of trickery."

"Really."

"…I won't get into this discussion with you," Harou said suddenly. When his friend looked at him, he owned, "For you masquerade around the truth more times than not. I do it because I _want_ to, you do it because you have to."

"No…I will admit to you, I do it, for the same reasons as you."

"Well…" Harou eyed him. "That is a revelation. One I care not to hear. And here, I believed Sun Wu Kong was a_ joyous_ man…"

"Every reincarnation inherits the next generation's blues. Perhaps Sun has mellowed."

"Do you see what I mean, though? You're a real whiz, with that secrecy you know. Karada could do it too, though not quite as strong. With him…"

"Karada was too widely known," said Saru. "He could say anything, do anything, and it would not surprise anyone. It's the same way with Hashirama. He could wake up tomorrow and announce to the world he's going to become a librarian in Tanzaku to encourage young minds to all the truths and history of the written word, and people would continue to say he is such a humanitarian. It's simply who he is."

They sat in silence, in the night, on the mountain top over looking the small town, with the moon, like a silvery white ball of light, above. Coushander was probably sleeping under that moon, back in the apartment.

"There," said Harou after some time passed. "Now I know what has you down," When Saru said nothing, Harou folded his arms and spoke quietly. "You want a team, don't you? But Coushander is not ready. In fact, he won't be ready for at least a couple months yet. He'll spend his whole life learning this trade. And yet, you're committing yourself here, limiting yourself to errands just outside the village. You're trapped. You need that action again to cover up your feelings about your father…and Keiko."

After a moment, Ryouma started laughing. First with a smile and a grin and a chuckle and the downward bend of his head, he laughed. He chewed his lip and smiled. "If I have the fullness of Karada's misdirection as you describe, then you have the fullness of his insight. You were always so abrupt. You're like a shinobi mentalist, you are." He waited a moment; Harou carried the weight with him like a silent shadow, all but a little annoying for as often as he was so bitterly right. "'Trapped' wasn't a word I might think of," said Saru, "But it's truthful. I can never go back home now."

"Everyone can go back home…except for myself. You made some peace with him when you went back to see your younger brother…" A moment in time passed before Harou finished the thought; "You feel…like a traitor…?"

Saru twisted uncomfortably.

"I see. I'm sorry."

"I just…" he waited a moment more, until finally he shook his head of the idea.

"Wait a second—" Harou thought suddenly. "—You…" 'Didn't want to be alone', were the words stuck in his mind.

"…Yes?" Saru reposed.

"I see," Harou said. "I see," He said again shortly. "You were never one for words."

"That's why I stuck to songs."

"Yes I know."

They sat in silence one more time, where Harou could still remember vividly the sorrow he found in his last wandering in tsuchi. That was where he learned the princess they saved two years before had become gravely ill. Saru traveled back for her, and met her one last time before she died less than six months ago. The story, Harou knew, was one of a whirlwind love, and the cruelty of it. Hence it was a part of the reason why Harou, to this date, never bothered to get involved with the opposite sex. He did not consider himself a misogynist, but he remained indifferent. But Saru intended to marry her; the two knew not how (the princess's father being an obstacle, though the man never knew), and the two knew not when, but bound together by the soul, they loved each other much, and the love did not come at first, as Harou remembered back on the mission. Karada passed on soon after, and missions came and went and continued. Only a year ago had Saru returned to that place in the south, delivering a letter, and met her once more. At first, he said not a word about it, until he asked Harou a few months later if he had after been in love, which Harou promptly shook his head like he were proud of it, "Granted, I fancy some women are…more beautiful than others," he'd said analytically, until he caught that misty look of love really in Saru's dark ebony eyes, and immediately, Harou was shocked, "Oh my dear God, you fell in love, didn't _you?_" And the story slowly came out. They sang. And they danced, to one of her favorite songs. And it had been magic, and wonder, if ever the reincarnation knew it. "She showed me the most beautiful place in the world…" Less than a year, the romance lasted before she fell ill. It was an odd twist of cruelty even Harou could not explain, as if there should be some logical explanation for it.

"Still…" Harou picked up, "Being captain…is a splendid idea. You've already gone to the northern border a dozen times. They ought to know you well up there."

"Coushander believes I'm crazy."

"Ah. Well. That's why he's a ninja in training. We form new beliefs in training. He may learn that yet."

"Well. I do not want to take him far from home, if he chooses in two, four, or six years, that this was all just good and fun."

After a pause, Harou nodded. "I understand," he said, and looked at his past teammate. "Then what will you do?" He wondered, in lieu of all this turbulence and loss destined to follow him around like rain clouds.

"…You've glorified wandering, Harou," Saru-Shin grinned like sunshine in the night, "I hope you know that."

He laughed. "Let's retire in Kumo then."

"Why Kumo?"

"Because they have the best view."

Saru looked out over the sleepy town and he grinned.

.

Jiraiya obtained an odd sensation of déjà vu when he finished talking with Tsunade inside the hospital later that night. When he passed by one of the hallways on the first floor on the south side, he saw Minato standing quite near an open door. "Sensei," the young man said, when he noticed the tall man walking near behind him.

"What's up?"

"Oh…just…Kakashi…over-spent himself, I think. He fainted."

"…Oh?"

"Found him in his room."

"What—" Jiraiya did not grasp his meaning, "—You mean, intentional?"

"I don't know what I mean anymore," he answered quietly.

"Oh come on, that's no way for a future hokage to act."

"That's not set in stone, sensei. There have been plenty of other…"

Jiraiya smiled.

"What?" Minato looked at him strangely.

"Kid, you're gonna be great," his sensei grinned.

Minato left soon, but Jiraiya tacitly elected to stay behind, sitting in on the room in a chair beside the thirteen year old, resting flat, his skin flushed and a little sweaty, just like he'd recently returned from the western entrails of Kusa. Jiraiya didn't expect to see anything. It just went to show good old Kusa never changed, and Jiraiya's luck would never, either, considering Tsunade refused him _again_. Though, it seemed like right then was not the best time, and as a magic ball might say, he could try again later. At least she hadn't gotten hormonal on him and hit across his arm or face or brain…Hopefully she would not see him while he was sitting there now, lest he was viciously accused of stalking…_again_…

It was like the same way with people; they didn't change. Jiraiya would find out sooner or later, because he did not want to admit to himself just now that the boy was most certainly suffering from a horrid nightmare with that tight, scrunched face, and those closed, but moving eyes upon those unseen shadows or demons. A few moments later those eyes opened, a little frantically and wild at the walls and ceiling while his body remained still, but those eyes captured Jiraiya's stare; one kind of black, like his mother and father, and the other, the left was red like a haunting sunset over the horizon line of the land of earth's mountains, red with fire and danger. But Kakashi quickly closed that one, lest he started spending his chakra again. Even if the eye had not been rejected, Jiraiya figured he wouldn't get much use out of it. It belonged to an Uchiha, not an Hatake. The namesake's youngest finally noticed the tall sage on his right, and in an instant, his world turned upside down with nothing short of a quick glimmer of fear sprung into his eye which widened from the strain. Kakashi looked away and swallowed, as if he were about to be judged and run from the building like he were not to waste the good nurses' time. It was the type of thing he expected to be said from his uncle. The air chilled the boy's veins, and he lay there frozen, until Jiraiya said hello.

Kakashi said nothing.

"…You're a teenager," Jiraiya remarked, "Finally. You've grown," After a minute, he finally asked, in light of the decision Kakashi had made, "So. Tell me. …What do you think of your father now?"

"I miss him," his nephew blurted, his left eye coming open, hot red with tears coming down the corners of both of them. "I miss him," he said, more quietly than the first while a shocked Jiraiya struggled with the emotions. And then Kakashi shut his eyes, like in remorse, in the nightmare, or perhaps, five seconds to late to the next dream—"I want to die," he murmured, "I want to die."

Jiraiya knew he should not have come, he wasn't properly equipped to handle the idea Kakashi was no longer in spites with his father—his nephew actually knew grief and regret, the emotions were no longer outside of him and foreign, and since Kakashi was accepting them, it was like Jiraiya was now forced to accept them, which he was not ready to do. "Enough of that," the toad sage snapped at the boy after a moment, "Oh stop that blubbering," The crying only lessened. "You've got a second go," he said. "And Minato told me there was little chance you'd be inquired."

"I want to die," the young boy whispered to the ceiling.

"Oh shut up," Jiraiya bit. "Don't you dare go and die. It's a damn cop-out, that's all it is!" he hounded furiously, "You selfish little _brat_, do you not _think_ of those _around __**you?**__"_ His voice rose, and Kakashi caught the rage in his uncle's wide, dark eyes. Kakashi knew he was not talking to him now, but to his father. Unresolved issues. Kakashi was familiar with them. "Are you _that_ swirled up in your own _pity?_ Honestly! Poor you poor you, well yes poor you. We have all made mistakes, and not one is too greater than the next. There's plenty of guilt to pass around, but don't you _dare_, not for_ that_," Jiraiya slowly collected a bit of himself, and his rage, and held it, as it burned in his stomach. "Your—" it was too difficult to say his name. Jiraiya relented, until he gradually calmed. "Your dad loved you. And for that, for your sake, he died. Now you've been a piss-poor excuse of a man since then, but don't you dare sacrifice yourself in the night like that, you hear? That's just a _damn_ fucking cop-out."

Shivering not just from cold, Kakashi spoke tentatively, "S-sensei s-said th-there is no better way t-to die, than, in the night, f-for another man. Th-there is no nobler cause—"

"Well that's just plain horse shit. I'll sock him one, for that. You die, when the time comes, and not a second before, and you die for many men, not just the one. You understand?"

Kakashi gave a quick, conciliatory nod.

They sat in silence for a minute while Jiraiya continued to suppress his own anger and grief. His nephew was still spending his, quietly now. "At least you were taught some compassion," Jiraiya picked up, and the statement renewed the river of sorrow in the boy's body, and especially around his eyes. "…Sorry," It was difficult to say. "I understand now that this is hard for you. And I admit I am no help, nor am I wanted. I have treated you with civility," Kakashi wanted to say he'd treated him like he were his father, in appearance. "And I know you never liked me from the start," Jiraiya digressed. "I will leave you now."

And so he did. A brown haired girl with short purple stripes on her face had been waiting outside, and she walked in, taking up the chair the sannin had sat in—it was still warm. With the door closed, she waited for Kakashi to recognize her before she asked curiously, "What did he say to you?"

Kakashi fumbled. "…N-nothing," he stuttered. "Nothing."

.

A month and a half later, Sarutobi, now fifty five, happily passed the metaphorical torch over to Namikaze, Minato, with joy and with pride. Minato accepted it humbly. His two students were in the crowd, one smiling, one with neither a smile nor a frown under a night blue mask and his hitai-ate turned down slovenly, at an angle, over his eye, with the metal plate shining the Konohagakure leaf insignia. Sarutobi's students were near the front, one grinning broadly, and the other, just grinning. "Can I take you out to dinner tonight?" asked Jiraiya suddenly. Ruthlessly, Tsunade stepped on his foot. "Don't kill the moment."

"_Aw_…" Jiraiya groaned sadly.

For a moment, Tsunade reconsidered. In light of what suffering he'd gone through with their former teammate Orochimaru. She looked at the white-haired man for a moment, thirty-seven, same as herself; looking into those dark, handsome, and lively eyes, and his red stripes running down his cheeks, the tall, manly physique…and she grimaced. Jiraiya had no refinement. She was yearning lately, to settle down with the perfect man out there, and Jiraiya, was not and never would be him.

"What?" he said, as he caught her staring.

She smiled. "Maybe I'll let you buy me sake sometime. That little tavern, north of the hospital."

"Yeah—sure," he said, and looked expectantly.

"I will tell you when," she said, and returned her gaze back up to their new, twenty-something hokage, his student, not chosen at mere random, for this young kid shone with the most grace, talent, and humility Sarutobi had yet found since Orochimaru had craved the position for all the wrong reasons. And Jiraiya didn't want the position, and neither did she, though some thought it would be her birth right, to take lead at some point, down the road.

.

By next October, he'd heard (from the new hokage no less) that his young nephew, newly fourteen with a head screwed on as backward as his own, was seeking to enlist with the more covert division of the shinobi force, the ANBU squad, as they were dubbed, who each wore white face masks and the leaf insignia tattoo on their bare shoulders. Kakashi did not actually tell his sensei, but rather, being hokage, you could find out about almost anything, and this had come as a grand surprise, because as Minato put it, "He's isn't near ready yet."

"Well," said his consult, "How long can he stand?"

"About ten minutes. And that's before he blacks out."

"…A lot can happen in ten minutes," Jiraiya granted.

"Yes," Minato looked up—"Oh, and whatever you do, don't tell Rin about this."

"Is she the little brown-haired girl?"

Minato nodded.

"Is she his _girlfriend?"_

He offered a non-committal noise. "As far as I know…it's complicated."

"Ha ha," Jiraiya smirked, "I can imagine…"

"Would you…" he said after a moment, "Would you mind talking to him?"

"To who—Kakashi? About love? Well…I am not one to offer my services on mere _whims_, but if…"

Minato gave him a serious look.

"Well…"

"I have tried being there, for the two of them," said the hokage, "As much as I could, but now with all these duties, and my wife…"

"Yeah…yeah," Jiraiya reluctantly agreed. "You're going to be a family man now, I know how hard that is…"

"Ji-raiya sensei?" Minato exclaimed, "You—have a family?"

"…Ha ha," Jiraiya rose up from the chair. "Very funny," His student smiled, and Jiraiya pondered the idea, "I don't want kids. Too much hassle. Definitely. The only part that excites me is how they're _made_."

"_Sensei_…!" Minato scolded his provocative behavior, "Get out!"

Jiraiya chuckled, "Yes Yondaime-sama."

.

With the youthful stuff of daydreams like clouds over his eyes—well, er, just eye, Jiraiya found him in an empty training field near the hospital, a black kunai dangling loosely around his middle finger, sitting Indian style upon the short green grass. "Hey, you," Jiraiya appeared from nowhere as a greeting; Kakashi nearly jumped out of his shoes. He did not have the grace of his father, of that Jiraiya was positively certain. The thought almost made the toad sage smile. Kakashi stumbled backward, and Jiraiya knelt to his level, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yo," he said. "Were you training just now?"

Kakashi knew then, never ever get his uncle angry, nor provoke him: the sage was equally dangerous as he was insulting.

"Sorry to break your 'concentration'," Jiraiya smiled. "But a little birdie told me you have plans to join ANBU. Is this true?"

Kakashi took a breath, and nodded.

"Idiot."

Kakashi was grateful he had layers of fabric to hide behind, though his eye narrowed visibly.

"The little birdie (you may know him), informed me you can't stand to use it more than ten minutes. Was this birdie wrong, or what?"

"The ANBU have their own training courses," Kakashi recited quietly.

"Ha ha ha," Jiraiya laughed mirthlessly. "You're a real…" He neglected to finish. "…What kinds of missions have you been doing lately? Hm?" His nephew's voice was quieter still when he answered errands and the like, most of them issued my his sensei now that he was in a position to help, but Kakashi left out that interesting fact. "Simple stuff, hm?" Jiraiya said.

"Yes sir."

"Hm. And all of a sudden, you want to run with the big boys?"

"I am still jounin—"

"Oh now that's funny," Jiraiya grinned. "You're no more a jounin than I am Senju Hashirama incarnate. Your stamina took a nose dive with the implantation of that eye—"

"Don't talk about it _that way!"_ Kakashi shouted at him angrily, uncaring who the hell the damn sage was.

"…All right," Jiraiya agreed, and caught his anger. "I'm sorry. But point being, I do agree with your sensei that if you can't last more than ten minutes whenever you use your gift, you still have much more training to do, if you still intend on being shinobi," Jiraiya recognized the imposition of limitations from injuries—or in this case, new skills. "Look. Just take it from me. If you faint, pass out, or black out, even once on the battlefield, you're as good as captured and tsuchi nin will pluck you limb from lib, and suna men would take you to an outpost so fast it'll make your head spin while they sucked your brains out with their truth seekers and genjutsu artists. Now. Since you were not given access to your father's account, what the hell kind of money are you making to stay in your apartment now, him?"

"But you—"

"I know our little deal is still on, but it doesn't make much sense now to continue this way while you're getting no work, and it appears you won't for a while yet."

"But—"

"No buts. You will live with me."

If shock could be measured, Kakashi would have been to Iron country and back again six times over.

"Pack up your things and tell your landlord you're leaving."

"But…"

"Now don't be argumentative, Kakashi, my dear little nephew, it's for your own good. Now get up, yes, that's right, now go, get. I expect you at my place by night fall."

_Could he refuse?_ Kakashi thought as he ran. Maybe. If he wanted to be beaten into next Thursday with a heavy mallet, and forced into the evil scheme anyway. There was no telling what mood Jiraiya would be in next. Hell. Maybe Jiraiya would beat him up that very night…

.

In the evening, he came by in his wagon, led by a single, tall, wide-flanked dun color gelding. "Come on Coushander," he enticed when he met his old friend on his front porch. "That man from rice country is going to be here tonight and speak."

"Oh," the man remarked, "The one you guys try and impress so he comes back around again? _That_ idiot?"

"The very—Oh keep your voice _down!_" Kosaka glared. "If you dare say so much as a _word_, I'll—"

"Yes, yes, you shall shove me in the arm and say, 'Bad little boy, bad. No growing tips for you—shut up before he looks at you—oh! too late!'"

Kosaka rolled his eyes. "Come on Coushander…come. It does you no good to be sequestered like this. Heck, I think even _Curtis_ misses you."

"Now that _is_ something," Coushander concurred, It'd been a while, after Matty died. "Hm…it's tempting…but…"

"…Please?"

"…Was that a beg, Kosaka?"

The stout man seemed to lift his feet for a second and shrug.

"Well…all right," He finally agreed. Coushander went back in for a moment to summon his son, and the three set out in Kosaka's wagon for the village. But through the ride he had not taken in some time, as he was in the front, he looked behind for a moment toward the back where his son was sitting against the slated wooden rail, fingering a single strand of snapped hay, and Coushander suddenly received a chill, from another time and place. It was a distant, suppressed memory, growing like a shadow does with the loss of light, growing sharper yet with another gentle bump of the wagon—Coushander's paranoia amplified the strange sounds and feelings, and he returned his gaze ahead, entreating no thought in his mind. But the silence grew louder, and with another turn of the brown road, the tall wooden walls of the shinobi village rose into view and by now, Coushander began to sweat, a distant memory still distant, but so close, he could not afford to have it surface; he could not afford the—he jumped from the wagon suddenly, shocking Kosaka, who pulled tightly on the reins and the horse skipped to a stop. Finally, the walls started at him furiously and threateningly like spikes or chains on Stein's old brown walls in his office, back when Coushander, for the sake of his future, had to return, head down, sneakily, into the home of the damned ninja, his past—

Coushander turned away, "No!" he shouted at himself, and started running, "No! I won't go back!"

"…What the hell…?" Kosaka jumped out, and Sakumo, too, was jumping down from the back end, and it was his called out to his father that Coushander snapped back into some form of reality and stopped. He turned breathless, keeping his gaze low to his small son; he inhaled wonderful oxygen again, and noticed Kosaka there, alongside, in plain and simple (but smart) clothes so typical of the man, compared to Coushander with his slightly sloven appearance, and white bandage down his left arm, all the way down to his fingers…It was an accident, with a scythe, he told himself. He believed it too. "I cannot come tonight," Coushander interrupted Kosaka. "Some other time. But not tonight."

"But…"

"No," Coushander said firmly, and took his son's hand, and began to turn when Kosaka asked him if he was all right. "What kind of a question is that," The Hatake reposed on his inert anger. He turned his head apologetically, "Sorry Kosaka—Not tonight."

"Holy Lord…" Kosaka murmured to himself as the two walked back south, down the lonesome road. He knew the man had been under so much stress and pain considering Matty's fight with cancer and all, with the long nights the man had stayed by his wife's side continually, praying their family would not be broken so soon, but _this_…? Kosaka had never seen him react so starkly. Like day and night. Polar sides. It was true Matsuko had told Misao (and him, by default) Coushander's brief past with the shinobi world, but until that day, he really did not know just how incredibly damaged Coushander was from it. Perhaps, for a while, at least until Kousa could control it, Matsuko's death brought out the fragility in him.

Kosaka sighed, and went into town alone; maybe some other night, he thought, as the speakers were all peacefully _un_interrupted from the mad man in the back row.

.

But that night, just as Kakashi exited the building, he stopped, and emotion, actually ebbed at him like tides on a shore and grabbed him—he would miss that place. He would miss the landlady, shouting and barking at the postman every morning (twenty-three happy years of marriage), and the old woman, on the second floor, who routinely went out of her way to wish a good morning to him no matter what mood he'd been in when he passed by her door as she picked up her paper. Their hair color was the exactly same. And even the three member family on three B, his floor. They were annoying because they always seemed so content. A mother, a father, and a little boy seven years old who seemed to like him almost like an older brother. Jiraiya could not match that sweetness that emanated from him. The boy was attending regular school while the mother worked at a florists, and the father was a tradesman. One day the young boy had told him that they had moved two different times prior, but that the boy, Kenji, liked the shinobi village the best, and it would be his dream, that he could be a shinobi like himself. Kakashi did not talk to him much these days—he tried to avoid the young kid.

Kakashi turned, with a heart full of sadness and confusion, and walked down the steps, and as he stepped onto the pavement, from the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl come running up to him, "Rin…" he said in surprise. "…Hey!" she smiled back briefly, before her face surrendered to concern, "What are you doing?"

Quickly, he looked around. "Follow me." He turned and darted for the trees. She followed him, and after running south through a few blocs, he met her under a tree, in back of the trunk in a small, empty park-like forestland. "Kakashi," she said as they knelt before each other to talk, "What's up? And why are you carrying that flower pot full of dirt?" In addition to a stuffed backpack, he was holding a small terra cotta pot filled with black soil.

"Oh, um…" he frowned in some diffidence unlike him. Before he could speak though, she pulled his mask down, uncovering the emotion. Fidgeting, he set down the pot and chewed his lip anxiously. "Well, um, it was…for you…It was supposed to be a surprise," he set it down on the ground. "…for…your birthday," he sighed. "Forget-me-nots," he said with great difficulty. "They're blue…"

She began to smile warmly, "Really…?"

He nodded. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," her smile seemed to glow in the night.

"By November, they would have sprouted, and…"

"I understand. But—are you, moving out? What's going on? You're not—"

"Rin…" he looked up at her sweet round face for a moment, an then directed his gaze elsewhere. "Rin…I'm going to tell you something," he whispered, "that you must promise, you will not tell anybody else. I…am not sure sensei even knows it."

"…What? I promise. I won't tell."

He swallowed, already feeling that cold chill on the back of his clammy neck, and he received a chill of goose bumps all down his arms; "Jiraiya-sama," he said quietly, "Is my uncle. It's true. He was—er is, my father's younger, half brother. It's true. And he's making me move out, I'm not even sure why. Ever since…my father died, he's been so angry with me—he found out about the ANBU application from sensei. Jiraiya does not want me to sign up with them, either."

Rin gave the motion a third seal of agreement. The thought of him joining the force unnerved her. She could not bear the picture of him, with those men, doing those covert, always perilous missions…

"I'm going to do it anyway," he concluded quietly. "I must be stronger. For your sake."

For _your_ sake; the words echoed so harshly in her mind, she could have slapped him were she not holding in her courtesy. Since his oath to devote his life to protect hers, he could not be reasoned with, not when the answer was always…for _her_ sake. For a very long time, he trained too hard, too fast, and too recklessly, even by Minato-sensei's standards, perfecting jutsu, trying to surpass his own father controlling his rai element. And this was all because Obito loved her; now it was _obligation_ he worked so hard, so fast, and still so reckless to fulfill all those promises. And though Rin did care for Kakashi like Obito had cared for her, the young man remained distant, like the very first time she'd met him, unwilling to talk about the hope or the pain.

Rin frowned above the sprout-less container. In fact, looking at the sod was like looking at his emotions: they were all buried under the namesake of duty.

"Please, Rin—I'm not asking you to change your mind, I just want to protect you, that's all. I'll—"

"Protect me from what?" she returned. "Kakashi, the only protection I need…the only thing I need is _you_. Instead you avoid me, every single day; I just can't talk to you anymore."

"…What's there to talk about?" he asked with his gaze on the grass of the lawn.

"Everything!" she answered. "Can't you—" She stopped. She did not want to use the word 'see'. So even some words _were_ off limits… "Can't you understand, at _all_…I care about you. I don't want you to purposefully put yourself in danger all the time—don't you live for anything else?" Kakashi stayed silent, about to say something, then stopping. He sat there, with his head down, and lone stare low; the line of her mouth was perfectly even, "Do you want to be alone, all your life Kakashi? Nobody can live that way, not even you. I know you've never asked for help before, and I know you never will, but please, I have tried so hard for you, could you just please open up?"

He continued to keep silent for a moment, debating his answer. Finally, almost as soon as she was about to give up, he said, "I talked to sensei," and he paused, as if that said what he was trying to say. "After…we got back…"

When he neglected to say anything else, she asked, "But, you can't talk to me anymore?"

_Basically_, he thought. "Rin, please, it's just too hard."

"What. Because I'm a girl?"

"No."

"Because…I was there?"

He almost rolled his eyes, flinching, and he flinched back a little more when she leaned in closer. "I don't blame you," she said.

He looked at her with quiet disbelief.

Rin glanced away for a moment. "I'm still not over…what happened," she said slowly, "But it happened. You're not a bad guy. Like…Obito said…you are a wonderful jounin, you are strong, and you do care. You care a lot for this village, and…I just hope, somewhere, deep down, you care about me."

"…But…Obito…"

"Even he would not what you to live alone, Kakashi."

"But—"

"Shh," she said, and reached out to place a finger over his moth, but got too nervous herself and she looked down and held his hand instead. He looked down on that like she were about to place a seal on it or something—as if he couldn't understand, or could not accept the gesture of affection. "Please, just think about, " Rin looked at him with soft brown eyes. "Will you?"

Kakashi sighed, "…Sure," he said semi-disingenuinly. "Now, I really must go, before..."

He pulled his hand from hers immediately, and the two stood in unison; she held her birthday gift in her arms. "Kakashi—wait—" she said before he turned away too far, "Meet me, at the bridge tomorrow, please?"

"I can try."

"I will wait. And thank you," she said, with a faint smile like a light in the dark.

Shortly, he nodded as he pulled the concealing fabric up over his nose, and then, went out of sight.

Rin looked down: _it takes water for you to grow, little ones._ "I wonder what kind of water Kakashi requires…" she murmured quietly to herself, knowing the answer, knowing Kakashi was still having a hard time accepting it…

.

"You will sleep there," he nodded. It was the second room off the main one, with a padded cushion over a small wooden frame, small like a cot with one green pillow in the center under a small window with the same green color repeated on both sides as curtains. Looking at it with the backpack slung across his back, Kakashi still was not sure in what state of mind the sage was in offering all this to him. As he could not sleep that night (or slept very poorly when he did), Kakashi concluded that perhaps the whole literal move might be grasping toward atonement, rather than rage or madness (which had been his first two guesses). If Jiraiya looked at him as reconciled with his father, perhaps he thought being close or kind to the boy was a kind of reconciliation of his own. Surely love and respect for Minato was not the reason. There had to be something more than student-sensei love. But how far would it go? How long could it last? A few months, a _year…?_ All the more reason to continue training harder…which of course Rin did not like, but honestly, what else was there to do…?

.

He awoke, and his new landlord was already gone. There was no working clock he could find, and he possessed no watch of his own, but judging by the sunlight filtering in through the trees, he'd be lucky if it were on the early side of ten in the morning. Remembering Rin, hastily he threw on an old cloth vest and before he exited, he took a moment to look at the main room of the house. The pale yellow walls contrasted his uncle's nature (or so it seemed). It was a color like the bright pastel of youth, warming the area with a glow of its own. There was evidence of only one man living there, with his clothes near his bed, and stacks of things underneath the cot, and on a shelf, near the bed, near where a racy calendar hung, Kakashi noticed a small white object. It was his father's pocketknife. Kakashi had wondered who had taken it after he went back for it five years ago. And for a small moment, he wished he could put it in his pocket and take it with him.

Remembering again the brown-haired girl, he exited the tree house and headed north, west of the old Senju land, just north of the hospital. The bridge was near a series of new practice fields for academy students and fresh genin. Kakashi could only cringe when he saw her standing on the wooden overpass, over the small stream, and after they exchanged somewhat reserved hello's, he asked her, "You haven't been waiting long…?"

"No," she shook her head.

"What time is it…?"

"Eleven-thirty."

He shook his head, and stared over the side in self-disgust, "I'm so sorry."

"A rough night, then," she smiled gently. She could tell his glum expression even through the mask he wore.

"What did you want to talk about," he asked without a variation of tone in his voice. He was always straight and to the point. "I got accepted to be an apprentice," she began, "To a good medic—maybe even someone like Tsunade, for the second part of my training…the advance stuff…I wanted to tell you, last night."

"Oh—Rin—congratulations—that's what you've always wanted."

"Yeah—I'll be working in the hospital full time now," she said. "Kakashi…I know I can't stop you from…what you want—neither can anyone else, but please. I beg of you, I do not want to see your face in the hospital, ok?"

Slowly, he nodded.

"I don't want to see you come in through either door unless for a visit, do you promise?"

"Yes," he smiled quickly, even if she couldn't see it, she should at least hear it in his voice. "I do promise. I will come back. For you."

Rin rolled her eyes, and after he noticed and asked after what was wrong, she turned on her heel and headed south—"What?" he said again, "What is it? What did I _do?_"

"You've been doing this to me everyday, for almost the past year," she said evenly without looking at him. "Kakashi," she stopped, and he clumsily bumped into her shoulder—"If you don't mean it, just don't say it."

She walked on, but he caught up with her—"But—but the promise—"

"I'd rather have you the way you were if only you wouldn't lie to me and act like you care—it's stupid Kakashi, and you know it."

"But—"

She turned, "Do you care about me, or not?"

He was speechless. But before she spun around a final time, he found the words, "I will protect you, with my life—please, believe me…"

Dissatisfied, she turned. "Rin—" he said, "Rin…"

Kakashi watched her go; she walked briskly.

He groaned, there, up to the heavens once she could not hear his cries. It seemed like he wasn't a friend with anybody, nor was he on good terms with anyone else in the world. He turned east, and went to file directly with the ANBU division.

.

Kakashi was accepted, and took on the pre-course week of training—both mental and physical with a small rooster of other fellow ninja. But before he set out on the first covert mission, they were called back. In fact, all teams just outside the village were recalled.

Along with the legend of Rikudou sennin, the legends surround each of the bijuu were thick with tales of power and destruction, darkness and danger, but the kyuubi, mad with rage above all else, was said to come in times of strife and conflict, and it came that night in early October, in Konohagakure. And it's nine tails flung havoc across the land under a shining full moon, a silver mirror of havoc and terror…

Konohagakure lost many fine men that night, October the tenth.

.

Harou stood up and stared down the naked mountain in the moonlight. The whole town was sleeping, he'd even seen the lights turn off by the midnight men in the formal office of the hokage, at the base of the mountain. Harou bet even the lights in the land of mist and fog were all off, and no one was left, and no one and nothing remained but the young blood Saru shed on the cursed ground. "Monkey—why did you do it," Harou asked quietly. It looked a long way down indeed. Blank, and free and easy, with a hedge of trees at the very bottom. "Damn you—why did you leave me alone?" He continued to stare downwards, off the rocky ledge. Harou thought back to the old shaman he met hidden deep within the mountains of tsuchi; perhaps he had been wrong. He should have foreseen Ryouma's inconsiderate gesture…he should have foreseen all this madness befallen. Harou stepped to the very edge, and felt the wind at his back, pushing him forward, with a gentle nudge—he began to fall.

But not even halfway down, something broke his fall. No trees grew on the side of the mountain until now—they were like great green vines in motion, piercing the rock with large cracks and fissures, and they caught him, and several new branches entwined around his wrists and ankles—shocked, he blinked several times as his body couldn't move—he blinked once more and then saw the tall shadow of Senju Hashirama standing on a thick brown branch protruding from the mountainside. "I was not sure…you were really going to do it."

The next thing he knew, Harou was back on top of the mountain, a forest backing him, and towns and cities beyond the old sleepy town of Konohamaru. He turned, and saw the hokage on his right, and the Senju sat, "Please," he invited.

Was it insult to injury? Or was this feeling of omniscience next to him vaguely reminiscent of Karada? Reluctantly, Harou sat next to him. The break of the fall would have been easier than this. "I realize," the most powerful Senju in all the land declared, "this is quite difficult for you. I know you two were the last to serve with Karada."

Harou was determined to keep silent until he could strike verbally.

"I too know what it is like to lose someone close to you."

During the next silence, it took all of Harou's restraint not to shout at him the injustice of the nature of the mission. Instead, he said evenly, "But to die, by an Uchiha, why I cannot—"

"Saru-Shin did not die as you believe," Hashirama produced a note from his pocket, and gave it to Harou. "You will find that is a short excerpt of the journal Saru kept. This part of the entry is the last, written by the Morino. It explains how their captain died, and I expect you to destroy it once you have read it."

After a while, the Senju heard the burn of the paper in the other man's hands. The small light extinguished with a simple change in nature, and fine dust now scattered on the wind.

After another pause, Harou said quietly, "At least he did not die in a genjutsu…"

"Is that worse than suicide?"

Harou stared long and hard over the village, unable to respond.

"He fought bravely; all of them did, and for that which I will call the four together, once his brother can stand to walk."

"Coushander may not stand for that."

"You trained him, did you not?"

"Hokage-sama, Karada and I trained Saru-Shin, and look how well a job we did."

"Ah but that is _exactly_ the point. He did not want you on the mission for that reason. Indeed," Hashirama smiled faintly. "Saru-Shin died with honor. You taught him _well_."

Harou looked on the Senju with something like a small shot of abject horror, as the words were cruelly turned against him.

"Meanwhile, a death without purpose is a life without purpose. You have pledged allegiance to this village Harou, and all that we stand for and defend; does that mission not withstand the strife and conflict present in it? There is a greater mission. Saru-Shin understood that."

Furiously, Harou stood. "I do not speak for the dead, and neither should you," he said boldly, with a hint of malice in his voice. It came from being on the defensive: being accused. In all their philosophical discussions, with Saru, or with anyone, Harou had never been at fault. He never had to defend himself like this, and never to someone such as Hashirama; it was unheard of. The only person who would have ever seen or know his own faults were Saru and Karada.

"I know your friendship runs deep Harou," the Senju said and stood to face him, to look him square in the eyes with that tall power, strength, and wisdom he contained; "But if your service does not run deeper I must ask you to either face a dishonorable discharge, or, if by chance you have a shred of patriotism and loyalty left in you, you must face the missions office tomorrow morning sharp. Currier duty depends upon _living_ creatures."

Harou bit his lip. How cutting, how sharp indeed the Senju spoke. Must have been an inherent, trait, annoying to ninety-nine percent of them save Karada, who handled it with more grace than all of them combined. After a moment, Harou said in the face of stringency, "Yes sir."

"Yes to which? I am serious Harou. Death is not an option. Death simply is."

"Yes," Harou said again. "I will follow the teaching of Karada. I will carry on."

"Good."

Harou nodded his head, and turned to leave the sacred place the hokage mercilessly treaded upon. Hashirama fought him intellectually on his own turf. Damn those Senju. He closed his eyes, once he was home, and picked a place in his mind to run to. Harou thought for a while. Not Tsuchi. Not Kumo. Not Konoha. Not Kiri no kuni. And not Kusa…Taki. Sure. Taki. Taki was always fun and worth his while.

.

Kakashi awoke within the silent gray walls, unbroken by fury. But the damage was still there, in the lower and upper levels; broken windows, and shattered glass everywhere, and the terror in his eyes like a residual gleam of light…like fire. Slowly, he sat upright, flinching as a small pain hit is right side, and then it passed. At least eight other men were packed in there with him, all older, all injured, and all unconscious. Kakashi began to panic as memories flooded back from the battle—it was hardly that—too many men were dodging flying objects. It'd been a bad idea to hit the thing with kunai…But Rin…where was…"Rin…?"

.

"…Get some sleep, Jiraiya."

Wearily, he shook his head. "I can't. I won't," he said matter-of-factly. "…I keep thinking I'm forgetting something."

"Well…can't help you there," she shrugged, and then she stopped and held the left side of her shoulder. "I'm going home…if there is one."

"…Home! Tsunade! _Mom!_" He realized, and set off running at an incredible speed. He came in through the forest on the north side, where his tree house stood safe and untouched. He ran and his heart skipped a beat as he stood in the field, seeing a westward slice across the land at least twenty yards long—it was not deep, but it had come through the side of the house, effectively splitting it in half. "Mom!" he cried, and ran forward, "_Mom!_" He searched through the haphazard rubbles and strong creaks of the house, calling her name again and again, but he could not find her. Thinking perhaps she got out in time, he called her name outside, in the wooded backyard, "Mom?"

Happening to see another cut in the land deeper in the forest on the south side, he followed it, and recognized an unnatural upward formation of earth in the land—an earth jutsu! He ran and there on the other side of it, there she was, unmoving on the ground. "Mom!" he exclaimed, and held her head and shoulders, "Mom?"

After a moment, she blinked her eyes open—Jiraiya felt like he could cry, overcome with emotion and relief, "Mom, it's all right; are you ok?"

Quite dizzily after a few moments, she sat up against the trunk of a tree behind her and hovered there with some support of her son. She had a concussion, her left wrist was sprained, and she knew she had some kind of deep gash in her left ankle from either a shuriken or kunai, she did not know which…But she could remembered the orange fur, in the distance, and it's blazing, fiery eyes… "Jiraiya—Jiraiya…is…it gone…?"

"Yes," he nodded his head, tears burning his eyes with relief she was alive. "All gone. Let me take you to the hospital."

"Is it…still there…?" A glint of light finally shone in her eyes when she remembered what had happened to her home, and she had been unable to stop it…

"Yes," said Jiraiya, "All the medics are there, with…all the wounded."

"All…?" she wondered, _was it that widespread…?_

"Yes mom," Jiraiya said, taking her hand carefully over his shoulder, and he lifted her up.

"Oh Jiraiya…" she said as he headed south, further away from there home. "It's ok mom," he said to her, "I'll come back and get the pictures, and anything else, I can find…"

"Oh sweetheart," she murmured, in some residual shock.

.

Rin was dead. Minato was dead; and yet Kakashi could not believe it: it was shock. And he was not the only young man waking up so confused and lost. But seeing as Kakashi's injuries were not life threatening, those at the hospital were in the process of throwing those men out (quite gently as possible), making room for more and more wounded found under rubble and rock.

So Kakashi awoke frantically, to the brushing leaves and the silence outside the cream yellow walls of the tree house. "Is that you?" he heard a deep mature voice say from the other room. "Are you awake?" Kakashi looked up, and saw the man poke his head in, startling him. After several cried and attempts to flee the place, the gravity of death slowly entered into his young nephews heart and mind and Kakashi wept, knowing it was all true. Minato sacrificed himself for the sake of the village, and all those in it, and Rin had given her own life to save Kakashi…

The nine-tailed fox was imprisoned in Minato's son, born that fateful night.

And Kakashi kept on crying, continued languishing, repenting, and mourning like he were the last man left in the world, and in a sense, he was last member of team yellow flash still alive.

And though he told himself otherwise, Jiraiya felt for the boy, like the way he viewed Sakumo after Yoshiko passed—the boy's reasons were gone; his support, his hopes; whatever they might have been. He was utterly alone in the world, devoid of the very people, perhaps the only ones with the best chance of helping or healing him, and who had known him best. But after a couple lifeless days with the gray not just in the boy's hair but migrating down instead to his eyes like a fallen stupor, Jiraiya kicked him in the shin and said, "Sit up straighter. They need people like you to held with the cleanup. There aren't enough genin."

Kakashi stared at the floor listlessly, like an old man without a cane.

"You idiot. Do you think you are the only one who has lost everything? You selfish little brat. You really _haven't_ changed. I was wrong."

"Jiraiya—they're gone! They're all—"

"Yes and do you think I wanted to go away and hide when Sakumo died?"

Kakashi looked up very surprised, and nearly shocked—it was the first time his uncle had said his father's name.

"I had duty," Jiraiya snapped adamantly. "I _ran_, to _duty_. And for not one minute," he rose his voice emotionally, "Has the pain ever lessoned you little pipsqueak. So…" he continued pointedly after a pause, "Do not _ever_ believe the pain is singular to _you_."

Tears overflowed in the young man's eyes, with a sob he forcibly pushed down. He wouldn't cry, he couldn't. Not in front of his uncle.

.

Three weeks later, she sat in the cafeteria to the hospital (packed with shinobi and civilians) and she sat with a pen in her hand, and a black and white real estate booklet laying flat upon the small circular table. "How am I supposed to choose?" she asked Takato's wife.

"I have no idea. You could always find an apartment. That's what I've decided, though I don't know which one…"

"True. But…I've always been used to…" Kano suppressed the heartfelt nostalgia of the ruin. It'd been her home, for the better part of her life—in fact, nearly all her life soon after she did the tours in the medical stations and returned to the village. She'd found the place on break. "My son suggested I move outside the village, that's why he gave me this, but I don't know if I could ever part with Konohagakure."

"How far away are those properties?"

"Between two and five miles."

"Oh, well, that's not bad."

"Maybe. Oh. I just don't know," Kano fretted, turning over another page.

"What about…your husband's old house? That went to Sakumo?"

"Oh," A smile spread across her face. "I could not possibly live there, that place…" Too much history, she thought, was attached to the walls of that place, still standing, and still quite well intact, and still Kakashi's to inherit and have. But Coushander's life was there, and the better part of Sakumo's. Though she still walked there occasionally to see the house and inspect the red rhubarb and all, she could not sooner live there than call the Hyuuga her own and move in with them…

"Then…what about rebuilding…?"

"Well, actually…that's the other part of it. Since the…attack, my son informed me there's been a motion to buy up more private land for security reasons. My son told me I could get a good deal to afford a new home."

"Oh I see! That works quite well then."

"It does…" she sighed and agreed. "It certainly does…"

.

"Jiraiya-sama…may I speak with you?"

"Of course. What is it?"

Kakashi entered into the main room of the tree house. "I've been offered…my position back…with the ANBU team I was assigned too, and the apartment house I used to live at is rebuilding—it sustained a little damage on the north end, but they're accepting boarders…" What was interesting, he'd heard from the old woman that lived there, the damage was on his old board, and two floors above—he regretted to realize it, but his uncle may have actually saved him from losing the one object he valued more than anything: the picture of his old team, with Minato and Obito and Rin. "May I…"

"Be released? From all other engagements and arrangements?"

A small smile actually spread across his nephew's face before he caught it. "Yes."

"Well," Jiraiya shrugged. "You have been managing your emotions, and you are fourteen. But answer me this Kakashi. What will you do about your old home? The one outside the village?"

"I…planned…on…not selling it."

"Is that so?"

Kakashi nodded.

"Tell me, it matters to you, it shall never be sold."

"It matters to me."

The tone was genuine. "And will you promise to look after it, from time to time?"

"Of course—yes sir."

"Then, you may go."

Another small smile spread—"Thank you, ojiisan."

"And Kakashi—refer to me only as master Jiraiya, would you. At least in public."

"O-Of course. Yes, I will."

"Thanks. Oh—and one more thing: don't gamble away _all_ your inheritance money, hm?"

Kakashi smiled, and saw his uncle return the same.

.

Another week passed, and Jiraiya found himself celebrating his birthday with clear sake and dinner with Tsunade, whom he bought that drink for upon her asking. Thank God she was still nursing her first cup after her recent agitated pre-menstrual type behavior… "So how's house-hunting?"

Jiraiya chuckled. "My mom…well she's not nervous about the move, it's the move that upsets her. She'd stay in the village even if a tornado came and leveled it all flat and Shukaku used it for a dance floor. She's lived here all her life."

"Not an image I wanted to see…" Tsunade muttered critically. "How old is she now?"

"Eighty-two."

Tsunade giggled.

"Shut up," Jiraiya said in a disapproving tone.

"And you're thirty-eight. Happy birthday," After he said thank you, she continued, "I still look up to her. She's still the one with the most experience and knowledge on medical ninjutsu, and I still see her walking about the hospital from time to time. She's so tied to that place, even if her abilities have waned."

Tsunade finished off the contents of her cup and proceeded to fill up another with the bottle right beside her. "Do you think…" she fingered the cup for a minute, "…_Orochi_ knows about the village…?"

"Even you must already think he _knows_, Tsunade. The question is do I think he _cares_. Probably not."

"Why not? He grew up here too, same as the rest of us."

"Mm," Jiraiya shrugged, thinking of that odd organization he joined. Jiraiya still tried keeping tabs on all of what their raven-haired, pale-faced teammate was doing, but lately, he hadn't been out much, and it was difficult keeping up with all his own contacts. "Unlikely," he decided. "I can't imagine anyone who betrays this place and still is concerned about it."

"You mean not even Sakumo?" Her tone was not interrogative.

"Tsunade, do not even joke about that."

"I wasn't being facetious," she said. "I was just being ironic."

"I hate irony."

She laughed, "All your books _rely_ on irony—The world is full of it."

"I know. If only...it were_ fair_ about it, I wouldn't mind."

"I heard once we should be grateful the world is not fair. Because if it were fair, we'd get all the horrible things coming to us because we really deserve them. So there. Take comfort the whole world, in general, is not fair."

Jiraiya began to chuckle, "You don't believe that. You'd have a lot of bad things coming to you, Tsunade…" he cooed.

She slapped the side of his shoulder hard, "So would _you_."

"Yeah…but you've been unkind to me all my life. I have been nothing but open and honest."

"And a fucking pervert," she sneered. Tsunade looked away and rolled her eyes, "I am _not_ having this conversation."

"You started it."

"Now I am ending it."

"Get too annoying for you did it? Oh _how_ ironic."

"_That's_ why I don't drink or go out with you. You really find a way to tick me off."

"What can I do to erase that," Jiraiya said, recognizing that cold in her beautiful brown eyes. That hardness seemed more prevalent these days, especially toward him: "Can I tell you you're gorgeous? That you inspired a character from one of the stories I am working on? Koizenumi Tsunami. She's beautiful, but she's a tough little cookie."

"I am not little."

"Ok—she's six-four and weighs a hundred and forty pounds."

"Thank you—wait, what?"

Jiraiya laughed.

Reluctantly, Tsunade smiled. "So will your mother pick a place?" she said, changing the subject back to something familiar, something she actually cared about.

The sage nodded. "She actually has it narrowed down now to three or four, but it's all about location…and two bedrooms. At least two. There's a place near Midori she likes, and a place near some old friends of hers on the east side. So…west, or east."

"Mm," Tsunade remarked, onto her third shot now. "I guess I'd pick east."

"Yeah—I was kinda leaning toward that one, too."

"Wow—are we in agreement over something?" Tsunade looked over at his dumb face, grinning the word 'irony' at her: "Oh don't even _say_ it…" she jabbed him over the shoulder.

Jiraiya chuckled. "Yes ma'am," he smiled.

.


	48. Hatake Jiraiya's Prayer

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 48  
_**Hatake Jiraiya's Prayer**_

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Every time he sat before the grey stone (which was so far once this year and once the year before), he wondered why he didn't see it. It was an ugly thought, but here it reappeared. Sakumo was naturally guarded, but he wasn't without heart. And for the first time since he passed, Jiraiya wondered how much of that heart had been so irreparably broken inside to do what Sakumo did.

It'd been two years. Jiraiya was forty, and Sakumo was fifty. Or at least he was _supposed_ to be. "According to you I thought I'd be showing around an old man for our mission together," said Jiraiya sadly. But the stone wasn't a speaker box, and Sakumo was not talking. Not anymore. "I would have gone on a mission with you," Jiraiya said quietly. "Even _if_ you failed. You would have…given your life, to save mine…"

Jiraiya was holding a bag of unexpressed emotions. He wished it were a bag filled with money, since that way, he could reach for a dollar or two with every rise of anger or grief. He was holding it now, pulling out nothing but angry tears in the back of his eyes while looking at that grey stone. He was half Hatake after all, as that sort of thing could remind his mother often enough. And he'd begun to really notice that trait within the past six or seven years, but eight years had gone by now, and Sakumo was still gone, as if he tried to erase himself from history—it worked; by now, nobody was thinking much of kumo or war with the third one over, the battles all stalled and empty. Now it was less chaotic. A little more like life…

Kakashi was sixteen, on break now from his lovely cell over at ANBU. It must be a good cell so he thought, since Kakashi seemed to speak of it a little, and speak of it well when he did, as Jiraiya's mother told him. Jiraiya had no problem now, letting the boy see her. Sure there were still bouts of shakiness on the boy's little mind, growing out and up like his body, but overall, Sakumo's son was finally on the right track, as he should be. Jiraiya wouldn't begrudge him that. The young man had experienced too much pain already. "The pain all started with you," Jiraiya verbally poked at Sakumo's gravestone. "You do know that, don't you?"

Jiraiya sighed, while sitting there on the ground. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but at least he felt he was getting his point across. He pursed his lips, holding inside a curse word or two or three and he glanced over at the tree near the graves. The flowers were gone, but the leaves remained. The will of fire, he could still hear his sensei say soon after the night the kyuubi appeared, the will of fire "goes on". Jiraiya nearly rolled his eyes. Though his older brother followed that will, there was always a piece of land back home he regretted each year working. He should have said something. Jiraiya should not have allowed Sakumo to torture himself so viciously like that. How many crises of conscience did Sakumo really suffer? As far as he knew, Sakumo did nothing he truly wanted, and when he seized his first chance of happiness, the universe spat on his zori and he didn't bother to fight back. Damn that man.

But here he rested, oh God hopefully here he _rested_ in some twisted peace beside his true love—his one love in life, as far as Jiraiya knew, next to the land. Sakumo had always shown such honor and discipline, and faithfulness, whereas Jiraiya favored women and wine in general. 'Send them to me in droves,' Jiraiya chuckled in taverns or bars. Sakumo never once scolded him for it. They usually never talked of such things, such games of intrigue or lust prevalent in Jiraiya's latest novel. He knew it was going to be a trilogy. Many good things came in threes, in his experience. The first one was about to go into print, hopefully. It wasn't a modest love story, exactly, and he told his mother not to read it. She seemed to understand. It was a little embarrassing, but it was a subject he knew, and in his mind, he wrote it beautifully. Sure there were a few flaws…but all in all, he felt as if he got his point across. Oh rejection. He knew that feeling so well after being thrown away by Tsunade one too many times again and again like some defective action doll. In her mind, he said three colorful lines and that was it. No other features. No other emotions. One side of Jiraiya's mouth turned to frown. He had a feeling of what Sakumo would have said with perhaps a coy blush or something: "Do you _really_ have to write something like that? Your skills, your talent deserves another story like the gutsy shinobi tale…" Jiraiya was still fresh out of ideas on that one, despite the hope of a sequel held by a few others, such as his old sensei, who was fifty-eight and back in business as the third hokage. Given such recent events, the only thing that was holding his interest now was lovesick humor. "Sorry," so he said, in response.

Jiraiya let out another emotional breath. Nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing else in the world, not even through all of his own battles and laurels did the pain supercede losing his older brother, his other half. Sakumo always held the answers, to all his questions. He could confide in that man about anything, and not be scorned or abandoned. And when Jiraiya became moody or subject to caprice on any matter private or public, Sakumo remained faithful to him, and patient, and forgiving. He seemed everything to everyone, Jiraiya supposed. He never saw him selfish, that was for gosh darn sure. He sacrificed everything he had and was, and asked so little in return, and a lot of times, he didn't ask at all. He only wanted that one chance to be normal, like their father before, and his father and so on. For with the exception of the previous generation, the Hatake clan were no fighters with kunai per say, but with the pick ax and the scythe against the grass and ground. And even now, the majority of the fields were overrun with grass and weeds. Curiously, Jiraiya did not feel the need to fix it. He could feel the loss, but he mourned more the man behind it than the land itself. Even Kakashi, Jiraiya surmised, felt the same way, though he was willing to straighten the yard a few times a year like Jiraiya's mother did.

And Jiraiya hadn't walked near there in years.

"Sorry," he muttered for it. But he did not have to apologize. It was a rare fault, but it was because of Sakumo that Sakumo was gone. Jiraiya chewed his bottom lip. He was still biting with raw emotion the thought even crossed his older brother's mind. It only ended up worsening Kakashi, not bettered. He missed Sakumo now, almost on the same level as Jiraiya did. It worsened everyone, even if the slander had been so grievous. But all rights (and admonitions), Jiraiya should have cavorted around naked in between kumo and Konoha back then if everyone needed a distraction. Somehow he thought Tsunade would have never spoken to him again. Neither would have Orochimaru, should he care now about an opinion from that traitor…But his niisan…Jiraiya shook his head and he exhaled. The pain was constricting, stifling like a Kusa fog of sultry heat in the groves of massive bamboo trees, on the western end. It choked the breath like the fever killed the mind. Out of quinine, or whatever curtains of ignorance and distraction he doped himself with, he couldn't breathe any longer. He couldn't live with this burden of grief on top of his shoulders like the unmovable weights they were. "You were…" He was not sure he could call his brother selfish aloud; the strength to do so was very great, but he over came it and spoke the words. "And I think you were an _ass_, to do what you did," he furthered strongly. "And…I've finally gotten to read uncle's diary."

A smile budded beneath his lips in triumph of that success, but it did not blossom, for all the serious thoughts overshadowed and swirled around over his mind that the mist that hung over Kiri itself.

Jiraiya understood though finally, why he had to mature this far to read it, while still keeping a tiny youthful jealousy in his heart of the fact Sakumo got to read it shortly after Coushander's death. But that was exception, or so he was told. But after reading it, Jiraiya now genuinely marveled at the honest bravery of their father, taking hit after hit and still not giving up nor surrendering, even if his opponent had been someone more skilled than he—or far more skilled. His old man had broken his leg, taken the enemy's sword right down his arm, deflecting it away from his torso, slicing his fingers and palm in the process, killing the man with a simple kunai. That, and much else, all for the village. And according to every true account, Coushander's skill level was nothing near his own nor Sakumo's, nor even that of a modern day chuunin Jiraiya supposed in light of his mother's innocent shrugs. But while he was a shinobi, Jiraiya sensed his father may have been the weary complainer, but he was no quitter. Jiraiya admired shinobi like that. He knew a ninja should not be judged by number of ninjutsu he knew, but by the moral fiber of his being. That made a shinobi. In contrast to power hungry Orochi, and those in search of nothing but glory and conquest like the Uchiha…

"Hm," Jiraiya sounded dully. That was a whole other muse.

_Shinobi of Konohagakure_

Those words were under his older brother's name. _Were you really a shinobi?_ Jiraiya asked himself. _In light of all you did. You lived a life of regret,_ he thought. "Father would not be happy with you. Then again, have you met father yet?" Jiraiya shifted his weight and cracked his neck. "But father…has at least met Saru-Shin…I can't see you yet…" Jiraiya sated at his nissan's name, engraved, "For a very long time," he whispered quietly.

"Ok," he said finally. "Here's the deal, and you _better_ be _listening_. If I can't meet you in the afterlife, I won't call myself Hatake," Jiraiya declared. "There. Now you'd better be waiting up there, or over there, or _else_. I might even throw your son under a bridge, how's that? Don't like it? Tough."

Jiraiya stood, hearing the sound of his own joints creak—since when the hell did he become old? "Just remember, Sakumo…" he finalized. "…_Nissan_."

.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

"Sakumo, you may ask me anything."

"Have you been seeing Rion?"

She turned, blushing faintly. "Yes."

"And…how are you—he?"

"Good," she smiled to herself. "He's been though quite a lot since we parted ways. But…for now…we don't intend to part ways again."

"Good."

"And, what about you? And that lucky woman? It must be on your mind."

"Oh…" Sakumo shifted in his seat. "Um—fine. I…really like her. I know this sounds so strange," he admitted, "But, from the moment I first saw her, I just knew. Does that sound crazy?"

"No," she smiled, sitting opposite. "For I felt the same way, about your father."

"…Really?"

Wistfully, she nodded. "So no, it's not crazy. Just don't let go of her. Unless she doesn't like you…"

"How can you tell? Er—I mean, how can I tell if she, feels the same way?"

"Ask her."

Easier said than done.

"You must have some sense."

He shrugged. "Not especially…"

Suddenly she heard the front door open. Her son was home.

.

Jiraiya walked inside, and she greeted him. "Hello sweetheart—you're just in time for dinner."

"Did Kakashi stop by today?"

"No, why?"

"Oh," he shrugged innocently, "No reason."

He took a seat near the kitchen table, for that was the first room up off two steps from the small landing where there was a second door to the basement. There were still pails of paint on the outside floor under the shade of the arbor of the patio he built her (not a very good job, but it did the job as to provide shade). She was still painting the exterior of the little house located just east of the shinobi village, quite near the Kosaka home, a mile or two, which was home to only Misao for a year now. But for two years Kano had lived in the little house (two bedrooms as she wanted, but still a down-size), and she continued complaining she was there at all. Konohagakure did purchase her land for a good price, and as she continued checking so frequently, all they had done was clear away the wood and rubble from her old home. She might as well have moved into her son's tree house for the speed with which they were going to rebuild. So she sighed and continued to make her new home her own with the familiar pictures on the shelves, a new clock, some recovered books and journals saved: the important, sentimental stuff. And in the meantime, she got to watch wide open country move all around her. It wasn't a bad trade off, not in Jiraiya's mind, and he thought deep inside, she must have felt the same way. But, change was still hard, and this house was quite a change. Jiraiya had to lower his head to walk through the doors, but his mother was mostly unaffected since she was not as tall any longer. "Did you do more painting today?" he asked.

She nodded. "It really soaked in with the sun shining on it."

"Will you need any more?" he asked, watching her fix him a sandwich. She had soup already boiling on the stove.

"I don't think so. I just have the back here to finish, and that will be it."

"Oh."

"So, does the cold mist bring you here?"

"Huh?"

"Kiri," she smiled.

"Oh—um, yeah, actually…"

"Well," she poured him and herself a bowl of soup and gave him the plate. "It's just as I told Kakashi, technically, that journal should be burned by now…"

"But—Kakashi, what if—I mean, shouldn't he read it? When he's forty?" One side of Jiraiya's mouth curved into a smile over the hot air.

"Well…I don't know," She fetched some extra silverware from one of the drawers before she sat down. "I only thought you should read it because…well, it had to do with your father…and me," she added after he smiled at her. "And your uncle. But Kakashi was never connected with them like you were. I'm just uncomfortable with that still floating around."

"But as long as it's under lock and key, we, or father was allowed to keep it, right?"

"Well…" her tone admitted. "Coushander has been gone…a long time…So. What did you want to ask? Anything?"

"Well…" he said again, staring off into the window dreamily. To be entirely honest, he wasn't exactly sure. So, he ate some of his dinner first as he thought of something.

"…Well?" she followed expectantly with a faint smile.

"They must have been strong…My uncle—Dalzen. Even father—a little."

She smiled oddly.

"I don't know. I couldn't think of any questions," he confessed. "Sorry…oh!" He remembered suddenly, "There is one thing. Two things actually," More relaxed, she sat back in her chair and Jiraiya continued, "Did you think…you all, as a team, could, you know…after all those setbacks? I mean, too bad getting a lead in monsoon season, that must have been awful. I didn't know Kiri could be so…wet."

"Well…" she thought. The answer was yes, but the fated answer was no. Saru chose them each for a reason, she knew. And it was time that had proved their bond. All three, with the exception of Coushander's leave, stayed friends. Kano knew those men so well like older brothers. "I guess some of us, were just willing to try." After all, there were no other opportunities or support offered to them back home at the time. Each of them were like isolated souls, waiting for that one act of Providence to set their course.

"What did father think?"

She smiled—"Dalzen thought he'd been in on the secret, but Coushander was probably the most surprised."

"And the part…" Jiraiya continued, "Where father…the transfusion. That wasn't in detail, yet uncle wrote that after Dalzen was more cooperative—what was that about?"

She looked down. "I did look at that part," she said, "Shortly after Sakumo read it, because he wondered the very same thing. That entry…was very greatly under-written," she said, and she told him the full story of that frightening but hopeful night like she had told Sakumo.

.

"But, Dalzen…"

"He became the sensei you know that night," Kano finished for the young man.

Sakumo was at a loss for words for a long moment, as time passed on the clock in her kitchen. "But, he…"

Keiko smiled when he fell silent. "If you want to ask him about it, I'm sure he won't mind telling you."

"Oh…ok…maybe. It's just, hard to think of him like that, is all."

"I think now…" she said carefully, "You've understood people can change, even from the set of ways."

Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah…"

.

Jiraiya lied awake and wondered. From what it sounded, Saru had been devoted to his brother—usque ad finem, on all things strife, conflict, and war or none, the man was there, ever ready with a smile and striped eyes, watching them, hoping to change their ways. If that man was to Jiraiya, Sakumo was to Coushander. Did the wheel of fire turn often with such reciprocals? Once again, Jiraiya stared out the window in his tree house, watching a distant star twinkle behind a curtain of leave. You'd better be up there, he thought. Or I'm not…

…going.

Jiraiya turned around and closed his eyes, with the pen motionless in his hand, evaluating his own life. He was satisfied with the whole thing thus far. The only man that was missing was Sakumo. Jiraiya sighed again and ended up turning open his notebook, and writing a few words for the book of love. "Second-rate…amusement…" he murmured, smiling.

.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

He was sitting on the young child's bed, with his own thoughts among the clouds—where else would they be but over the Great Divide once more, the sun and shadow both illuminating and shading all he had seen, and all memory instilled in the sturdy walls of his skin, and he must have been built half way's decently tough with the ability to take on such hits and such power, from without, and from within. It's not everyday he surprised a Senju for God's sake. He should remember to thank Takato again, for the opportunity. He'd been reminded of Kakuzu, after noticing a picture of a masked ninja in an open adventure book on his younger brother's floor. A blue mask, like Sakumo's own around his neck, and charcoal color hair. But the masked fighter was the hero, with bright blue eyes of justice. Kakuzu's eyes were like staring into the glowing grim orbs of death. They were cold, green, and black with amber of ambition, power, and hell. Sakumo narrowed his own eyes in a glossy haze over the picture, with the memories flooding back over the gates, indignant over the torture and death he'd seen, vowing it might never happen again. Next time, he'd come back and defeat that bastard; defeat anyone who would dare touch another in violence or mistreatment. So—was he all right? Shivering with the pricks of anticipation? Reeling with some slight toss and turn of revenge? Shaky, but grounded? "I don't know," he answered candidly, without malice. He blinked again, it was the hero, a ninja on the centerfold, and his then his half-brother's big black and curious eyes staring up at him like he were the real-life hero instead. Sakumo forced a quick smile and looked away, this time at the pillow. There was a time he might collapse himself against such an object and drown in confusion and sorrow. Now he understood that time was after all duty he had was done, and not a second before. Duty, it seemed, was a good answer for anything, especially in a soldier's life. And as the phrase went, held by the Senju, '_usque ad finem'_. Dalzen had quoted it to him, on occasion, Reminded of the loss, Sakumo felt a pang near his young heart, and a well of emotion catch in his through. Maybe he might never know how to say goodbye to the people he loved and admired.

No one else in his family ever seemed to.

.

The masked sixteen year old was minding the very inert business of his thin and lanky frame when he could see something obstruct his view: Kakashi looked behind him and straightened in surprise. The large shadow loomed over him, taking on crazy uncle Jiraiya's form.

"Tell me dear nephew, do you have nothing else to do but look at clouds?"

"Uh—"

"How pitiful," Jiraiya waved his hand and pointed a subjective, judgmental finger: "_You_ should be reading a _book_ young man, and not just any book, but one by the great and awesome JI-_RAI_-YAA!"

Kakashi blinked one eye.

Jiraiya was offended.

"O—Of course—I mean yes," Kakashi corrected to assuage ruffled sage color feathers.

"My make-out series," he pulled out a bright orange advance copy. "Read."

"Uh…" Kakashi accepted it (for if he did not he faced certain cruel behavior) and he looked at the cover curiously: _Icha Icha Paradaisu_, by Jiraiya, then with a picture of a young woman running pleasantly with a young man with a smile in his eyes close behind her. Inwardly, Kakashi groaned. Love was the last thing on his mind, primarily because it seemed to wave farewell the night the kyuubi appeared. On the back of the book was a sign. Adult readers only. Kakashi caught his stare upward before it rolled over in anguish. Was it torture? Could he file some type of claim? Torture and harassment, by a guardian? A legendary sannin?

"I've got something else for you to read when you're forty."

_Oh God_, he murmured to himself.

"Don't worry," Jiraiya smiled faintly, "It's about your grandfather. That journal in the chest down in your dad's basement. You can read it. When you're forty. And I mean it. I had to wait, and I've just read it. It's about your grandpa, my father, and my mother, on a mission to the land of mist."

Kakashi nodded. "Ok. I will," he promised.

"In the meantime, there will be two more books to this series. Enjoy, young mind full of mush."

Kakashi secretly glared after him. Jiraiya hadn't changed. And 'Enjoy' may not have been the word Kakashi would have used. Still. The man had written the story of the Gutsy Shinobi; this couldn't be that bad, even if it had a lot of…of…

…

unmentionables…

people…

conversation…

…

Curiously, Kakashi continued reading.

…

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He remembered it when he kissed her. The release. The secret joy; the secret terror, the fear, and the love. And as the months passed, he remembered that hope he could really have a family and perhaps leave something more than regret and loss to leave behind him like his father did. But being shinobi, he knew was the one thing he would never cease knowing how to be. The trouble now, with a newborn, was being the man he knew he had to be. Never again would he abandon love when it called to him by name and by touch. After all, love was all he had between hello and goodbye. And may he never say goodbye again. He prayed he might never say it, and he would wake up very early in the mornings now, every day, to this disbelief of bliss, and this wonderful scene of happiness. He had really been away too long; deluded himself too long—ran away, deliberately. He admitted this now, rocking the indifferent newborn back to sleep. But as Harou once said; where were the men like Karada, with no obligations to harm him. For as far as history told, he was married, once, and that seemed the end of it. During his life he was the lone warrior, tied down to no one even with his extensive, caring family, choosing instead to live out in the wilds all his life, ahead of every shifting wind blowing on the course of history. He was ahead of such gusts, with his indomitable courage pervading every circumstance like fulcrums, lifting evil and evildoers the other way at every turn, and in every secret corner. He was conscious and aware, and he was a sensei. And what a sensei he must have been. What a man indeed. Sakumo felt he should have like to have met him. He knew that part of him yes, it was singular to every man the want to stay lost out there in the battlefields, but to be _happy_ in that decision…? Sakumo looked down at the precious child and a smile bloomed on his face; he was continuing to experience the incandescent glow of joy surrounding that simple little home. His wife would have gone so far as to say he had a part in that, but he knew she had done the rest. And how she had the fortitude to do it must have been attributed to love. And like he learned in the war, there were in fact reciprocals. Sakumo prayed also, he might meet the standard in his lifetime.

.

Fall did not agree with her much anymore since Sakumo passed late in October eight years ago. Her birthdays , too, were nothing special since Coushander died on hers. But she enjoyed the times that those who were around her were happy. Jiraiya seemed to have reconciled with Kakashi, and even the boy proved he was doing just fine in the arms of service. Nora was well, still liking her new position, though Kano still picked out a twinge of strangeness with her words. The strangeness was fifty-one percent formality over forty-nine percent honesty. If she hadn't met someone yet, Kano hoped she would soon. She also hoped Tsunade would come back to the village—she always seemed to have an odd, but mostly positive effect on her son.

Misao was doing well, and doing just, with only her son and his wife for company, whereas Jiraiya was busy writing pornography. Those people often brought him up before her, and especially now, she had nothing to say. Oh yes. She had weaseled out the truth from Kakashi effectively, and he showed her the advance copy of love and relationships. "Honestly, that boy," she continued muttering to herself even now, as she looked at the picture in her room, of Coushander and his boys (next to Kiri, it was the rarest picture she owned. She had the right to take it then, and the right to look at it now.). And maybe the one thing that set her off on her son's newfound journalistic subject was that she knew a little something about love. Hers, the one that she'd wanted for so long had been based partly on delusion, and partly on accidental seduction. Coushander passed down those genes. But she didn't blame him for doing so. She shouldn't have called her boy handsome in his youth; maybe that was the mistake. She didn't know of any love interests from him, but she was well aware the boy—young man—was vastly different from Sakumo in those respects. Still. She did not want a love-story like hers re-told, even if Jiraiya had no such intentions (which of course he did not), but it was damn coincidental. And sitting on the eastern wall, Coushander probably agreed, forthwith struck with the absolute shock one of his sons would write such blasphemous fornication, even if at some junction in his eyes she had seen the same starving derelict atmosphere as the characters Jiraiya created. Oh yes. _That_ was real at least. And here, too, she must admit that after an inconsiderate string of pregnancies from friends of her friends at the hospital, she wanted a child so badly; one to call her own. No, Jiraiya wasn't a mistake. He was very nearly_ intentional_. Jiraiya knew this. She guessed she wouldn't mind as much if Jiraiya would have simply signed his book under a pseudonym, rather than plain Jiraiya, Kano Jiraiya, or Hatake Jiraiya. Especially not Hatake Jiraiya, even if the entire thing was drenching in such oversold irony.

Kakashi did not seem to mind. Which was troubling. But the whole thing was rather forced upon him when he explained in his words, as most things in his life had been: forced to be the son of the Shiroi Kiba, forced to behave, forced to lose him, forced to go on, and now, most dangerously, forced to read something not intended for those under eighteen—or was that seventeen? Kids these days. "You don't have to," she said. "Though, I don't know what he'd do if he didn't have someone_ to_ read it. I'd kick him if he brought it before Sandaime. I suppose...Jiraiya just wants the satisfaction. And in the meantime, the stork story doesn't start to add up…"

"Uncle Jiraiya…is quite descriptive."

"Oh I bet," her smile was odd and misplaced. "He did such a fine job with the Gutsy Shinobi tale—I remembered your father reading it to you when you were very, very young. You liked the chapter…about meeting the frogs, and the frog kingdom," she shared a sentimental smile with him hen exhaled a deep sigh from her chest. "My how the time has flown," she said reflectively, with a small smile. "I remembered when Jiraiya was your age—I even remember Sakumo when he was your age," she reminisced. "He lost his father, then, and Jiraiya…well I think you're more mature than Jiraiya was at his age," She didn't expect the young man to respond when she paused. "Still, no matter what the book says, I hope you find someone in the way your father did. Lord I wish there were more stories like that," she smiled warmly.

After a moment, Kakashi said, "Actually…there is a character who's…well…like that."

"Oh…?"

"Yeah—his name is Shun."

She blinked in surprise—the name was familiar—"Shun? Shun…oh…what was it your father…He used a name like that for a mission, oh what was it…" She searched her memory; "Nohara—Shun. Yes, Nohara. You were only…well you were very young. It was after he had his accident, do you remember?"

He nodded shortly. "I think so. Well, in this novel, he's…'faithfully married'."

"Well…" It seemed a small spot on an otherwise young man's novel. "Well, at least he hasn't forgotten."

"No," Kakashi murmured in agreement, and tightened the mask over his nose.

"Hm," she sighed, staring at the pictures. The whole thing was plain embarrassing, that's what it was. And there was Kiri, too, also on her side table: what young faces, she thought. When she looked into the mirror, no longer could she see that young girl, but the aged reflection of her, almost resembling that of her own mother. She glanced to Coushander again, the younger: "Honestly, that boy," she said, and she could not see his face for the mask.

.

The sixteen year old boy was busy fulfilling his goal to read his uncle's book before his short break ended. Again he was up on a roof in the village, underneath the sea blue sky, colored with white moving clouds. It was quite windy, with the lofty movement noticeable enough to see. Tree leaves flew and the pages fluttered as he read the love and suspense, in view also of the mountain faces in the distance. There were four carved up there now. But as he read, Kakashi had an odd feeling the main character was really something different than what he was said to be; it was as if he wore an ulterior motive up his sleeve like a shinobi with a shuriken hidden up theirs. But Kakashi was interrupted from his read when something suddenly popped up before him: it was Ji-RAI-YAA!

"Hello dearest nephew," he greeted.

Kakashi straightened in surprise and wondered if he could register the sannin's chakra signature on a beeper Kakashi could keep close to his waist so he might be forewarned of the impromptu meetings…"Jiraiya-sama," he said in return, coming to a sitting position.

"Ah! So! How is the story?"

"Um—Intriguing."

"Who is your favorite little love bird?"

"…Shun."

"…Figured."

Jiraiya took a moment. He eyed his nephew. "Would you like to do something with me?"

Kakashi's first inner answer was 'no', but again, at the risk of personal peril, he said "Yes."

"Good. Put away the book and come with me."

Obediently, Kakashi did so.

Jiraiya led the young man to the cemetery on the south-west side, and for reasons other than his father's sake, Kakashi sweat a few beads for himself. Jiraiya walked him to a familiar grave where they stood together in silence as Sakumo's name was read loudly on the whining wind.

"I made a promise, with your dad," Jiraiya began in an even tone Kakashi expected of him. It was the kind of tone he used to level out his emotions as to prevent them from getting a rise. "People do not simply go away forever. They leave memories will all those who knew him. Which is why…I wish to show you something else. Follow me."

Kakashi never knew it before, but on the far west side, the memorial land continued upward, gently rolling on a hill surrounded by dense forest on either side where shrines had been constructed with ribbons, flowers, and paper lanterns above and below. Kakashi observed they were mostly for prominent civilians and local leaders, as well as shinobi. Farther up one such path on one such hill, on a slight wooded deviation where someone really important might hide, on the far west side, there was another such shrine. Small, but important looking. And on a paper lantern, Kakashi read simply visitors were allowed, and there was a symbol for a high rank, and a field, noting the identity of the man who was supposed to be respected.

Again, Jiraiya spoke tentatively, as if he were talking over something, or someone more important. "I found out about this seven, eight months ago. I was in taki and I met a man, a fellow Konoha ninja in a tavern on the north side. We were both on separate, unrelated missions. But somehow…he mentioned your father, saying he'd served with him off and on—especially back during the second war, and even before that, on a mission to the western edge of Kusa. He told me he and an Akimichi man went in together and pooled their money to build this…for him."

Jiraiya stopped there.

Kakashi blinked, and Jiraiya fortified the walls of his raw emotion: it did not show.

"So pray," Jiraiya said simply without as much concern in his voice as he could resurrect, "That he's up there somewhere. Waiting. Regretting. It's what I have done."

Jiraiya left him then—voicing no audible command to follow.

After a while, long after the tall man was out of sight, Kakashi sat down, and he even read a little more of the orange _paradaisu_ book; learning about Shun, about…

.

He had the book read within the next three days, for the novel was quite lengthy, but yet like with all his other works, Kakashi became genuinely intrigued with the intrigue and read quickly (and sometimes slowly) over the more interesting and tantalizing parts… He regretted explaining Shun somewhat, for the older man had some fun of his own (with his wife of course) quite near the very end. And though Jiraiya craftily did not reveal, there were enough subtle clues in the book that offered Kakashi the thought that the main character (a young man) was related to Shun in some way like a nephew…

But Jiraiya did not seek him out again. So, running the idea over in his mind, Kakashi eventually decided to see him. It was a risky venture in the least, entwined in begotten feelings of hatred or mistrust, begotten two years before, in the darkness of those days after the kyuubi. He glanced down at the bright orange book. At the least, he was understanding his crazy uncle a whole lot better. Cautiously Kakashi knocked on the wooden slot. After a pause, he saw Jiraiya looking down through the hold. "Oh," the toad sage said. "You read it?"

Kakashi nodded.

"Come up then."

After a hesitation owed to prior caution, Kakashi climbed up and then he offered the book back, but Jiraiya waved his hand, "Keep it. How was it?"

A blush first crept over the boy's masked cheeks due to the majority of the material in _Come Come Paradise_.

"Your dad wouldn't have liked it either," Jiraiya answered for him not in a disapproving tone, but an expectant one.

"No—no," said Kakashi, "It was ok."

Jiraiya gazed at him curiously. "Mm," he said. "Maybe you're still young then. Did you enjoy it?" Jiraiya did not mean for his nephew to respond. The sannin smiled in place and peace. "Sakumo would have probably kicked my ass for something so raunchy like that. He was always squeamish about those things I think. But, I know you won't kick me because you are young and I would kick you back. Kakashi. For the future, don't listen to what I have to say. I would only steer you in all the wrong places. I'm sorry, I was unkind to you, after... I still don't know how to deal with it.

"I feel guilty," Jiraiya resumed after a short, hard pause. "And I am not the only one. I have to share it, with a few other people, but I want to take the most of it and beat myself with it. I tried to ignore these feelings, but you know how hard those nasty little things bite back. I had an open wound the size of Suna. It still has never closed. But," he sighed with the weight of so many disappointments and he said heavily, "I'm trying."

Nothing else needed to be said, and so Kakashi nodded after a moment solemnly, took leave of his uncle's tree house, and walked home to his cozy apartment with the book of love tucked under hand.

.

The book of love (and paradise) arrived in stores in February. Jiraiya saw discreetly his old sensei bought a copy incognito, and must have been pleased with it while he read it just as furtively. And by that time, Kakashi was already back with the ANBU men, completing assignments in various degrees of dangers. There was clear and present danger, there was hidden dangers (the most common infecting a ninja's world), and there was omnipresent danger, where there was nothing he could do to change the danger in any way like a balance scale half deep in mud and sinking fast.

So he sank himself more than a few times, and one sinking happened sometime in June. The sixteen year old was recovered, and brought to a med station north-west of the village. It was where Sayama Nora met the young man for the very first time. And in private, soon after he came to, she offered her own appreciation and respect for his father, saying, "He was a good man." She also offered prayers his soul might be at rest which was coincidental in light (and in view) of the shrine that was constructed that mast Jiraiya had found. He asked her about it, and she said it was most likely a man named Rinsano who was behind the whole thing, as he had served with Sakumo much, in his own words when he arrived at the station last October with several wounded. He was a captain now, forty-four years of age, a very good chuunin, "But a more genuine and kind soul you will never find," she said quietly with a warm smile, and pink in her cheeks. She was blushing, deeply. "He almost reminds me of Sakumo, in some ways…"

"Do you know where I might find him now?" Kakashi inquired.

Nora shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't. He said he went out back east, but he couldn't tell me where. He said he would write to me… But there were more than a few who still remember your father like he and I. They may be hard to find," she smiled in levity, "But we are here. Please, never forget."

"Thank you," he said, with a distant grapple in his heart holding shame. If there could be but one thing Kakashi could say to his father now, just one thing in the world, it would be that he was proud of him.

.


	49. To the End of Night

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 49  
_**To the End of Night**_

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There was a waiting room. And in that waiting room sat two individuals daily. He observed it most curiously like in fact this was their homely dungeon, and they were the prime keepers. Perhaps one the headmaster with collections of dark art while he wrote finances and scribbled notices, and the other the nervous key-keeper, always dropping the keys, fumbling them in his hands to unlock the doors to the musty chambers where others came in and out regularly without hazard. The ones outside this waiting room had no wait with clean and dry arms folded, and together they talked about these two strangers with self-important egotism. "Oh look, there he is again," the leader would whisper. For he had to whisper: the headmaster was a classified and qualified _jounin_ for God's sake. Not many men held that rank. So the egotist was not ignorant of that fact, but nor did he parade it before his company. An unpicked ninja was an unpicked ninja, like in a child's game of tag. There were many reasons for it. "He comes from the west side, just north of that little River country," Saru-Shin heard them say. "I heard the police there weren't kind to the leaf ninja—in fact the whole area hated them and beat them down. It was Suna's land."

"And he's loyal…to Konoha…?" interrupted one in a curious murmur.

"Probably a Suna spy," the leader whispered. "Sent in to infiltrate…"

"Excuse me," Saru interrupted from behind, all this far and away from any chance of overhearing. The walls of that dungeon were thick enough to block out the screams of those ill-forgotten. "But are those statements based in fact young man, or are you simply taking the liberty to judge a book by it's cover? If so, I will tell you I am a jounin, and I am a Monkey, and across my forehead underneath this white mane and headband of mine reads the phrase in less than _ten_ seconds I will strip you naked in search of bananas. Would you prefer to go _naked_ out the door or shall I simply _throw_ you out face first? Hm? What shall it be?"

The three, with eyes as wide as melons, backed away, and they continued walking backward, and out the front door themselves. Maybe they had a mission to get to. The picked ones usually did.

"Thank you," Monkey muttered approvingly. He craned his head and looked in again on the twenty-one year old fellow with the black hair, the incredibly tall frame with dark eyes like gloom. He was a scary looking headmaster at that. Saru wondered what it would be like to see the young man smile. It would be a wonderful, even charming sight, transforming that stoic Buddha to something more genuine, real, and congenial. Then, Saru looked on at the other, even younger man across the way, fidgeting, tapping his fingers nervously and anxiously, with more than a bitter dose of uncertainty frowning over his remarkably young face. A smile out of _him_, too, would do him well. For those same narcissus men called the seventeen year old, simply, a useless loser.

Saru remembered being chastised by another pompous self-important aide over looking at the files of those two. ("Shinobi! What in the world are you doing in here!") But Saru had handwritten permission from Shodaime himself, which quickly and efficiently put end to it. Once finding the files, Saru's curiosity, however was not so quickly put to rest. It was true Morino Dalzen came from the land they spoke of, but both his parents had been ardent patriots (and martyrs) for the cause of returning the little place to the land of fire's control. They were opposed to the harsh rule put in place by the Suna government. That was at least known, and when he was younger than this, the child left the land rather than face discrimination and then certain persecution. No longer did the people care to which side they belonged. They appreciated the strong arm of authority which was once instilled to them by the old wind regime, and so they clung to harsh Suna, in their hour of decision. Or at least the local _lord_ had made the decision for them. Saru did not know if there were truly any men left like Dalzen's parents who might want it otherwise, through Saru was sure the young man now wanted no more to speak of it or to do with it. Being a son of such a situation was difficult, at best. One the one hand, there must exist a dislike for ardent revolutionaries, and yet the revolutionaries were the only ones who could hope to overturn such harsh rule. It was a precarious thing, but yet it was nothing new. Histories such as this played out in every corner of the known world, and perhaps even in the unknown parts. But such a child deserved not to be so emotionally isolated as he was now. Love could cure such a thing. And basic human kindness. Just by the fact that the young man chose to be with the Senju was enough to grant Saru that hope the man was not purposefully wandering into despair and stoicism, though it seemed to have great hold over his emotions.

Kindness could in fact solve _both_ their problems. The seventeen year old across the way was completely alone in the world, startlingly much like Dalzen was. There were no connections, no family Shodai could speak of, and nothing on his file other than where he came from. The young man was like any other young man joining the Senju's little village hidden by leaves. Ridiculed by those unforgiving peers, Saru did not know what the boy's problem was other than a difficult case in speech: seeming to stutter and pause as if he was too nervous to speak, and too easy to go along. Saru only knew he was in search of a purpose, a role, and by Jove, Saru was going to love to hand it to him. So he did. Saru-Shin walked into the dungeon where the young key-holder looked up nervously as the head master behind was perfectly calm and unmoved.

"Hello," Saru-Shin smiled down at the young man. He produced the mission information paper; there were three in his right hand, and he offered Ichida one. "My name is Saru-Shin, and I'd really like it if you might consider this mission I'm leading. I noticed your natural element is water, I really hope you might consider it."

Surprised beyond all known bewilderment, Takato looked like he dropped something before he even took the page. Once he did, he nervously read the first few important lines. "You needn't have to say anything right away," continued Saru. "I'll wait one day, then come back on Wednesday, for your answer."

Takato swallowed, and surprisingly, he stood, liberated from holding the keys: holding raw opportunity instead. "Yes—sir," he stammered out. "Th-Thank you sir."

Saru smiled, and after an awkward pause as if he might be dismissed by the third person, the young man exited the dungeon, liberated, to debate.

After a moment, Saru turned on his heel, with the attention of three or four other cell mates upon him. But he turned directly around. The headmaster was still gruff and unmoved. So Saru walked over, and said hello. "My name is Saru-Shin, and this—" he held out the second sheet, "—is a mission I am leading to the land of mist. I would really appreciated it if you might consider coming along," Eying him with a cold, uncommunicative stare, Dalzen accepted the paper, breaking the shape of his perfectly folded arms. "You do not have to answer right away," Saru continued. "I will be back here on Wednesday, for your answer," Saru watched the man read with a hidden smile under his striped eyes. "But I would really appreciate having someone of your skill."

The Morino looked up once, with his eyes only, and then down again to the page.

A moment passed until Saru heard the Morino say quite abruptly as if he did not even enjoy speaking, "Arigatou—I'll be there."

Surprised he was in such ready agreement, Saru nodded, "Thank you."

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Leaving the stuffy airs of that sad place for the light, he entered back into the sterile air of a taller, wider, and more white a building: it was the old Konohamaru hospital, being renovated and worked on once again with the village adding more and more young shinobi within it's walls, and a greater need for space. It was where yesterday, he observed by chance, a young girl leaving an operation room mid-session with a tiny spot of blood on her white apron. Another woman stopped at the door, "Hoseki, just go home," she said disapprovingly with arched brows that nearly reached her hairline. "You can't handle this." Saru watched the older girl shut the door without a second thought, and the young girl named Hoseki looked as if she were going to burst out in tears and cry—Saru slinked back into the other hall while watching furtively. Her cheeks were beat red enough for such an action, but it wasn't until the young woman retreated into a vacant room off to the side could Saru hear a short and sharp sob.

So he hung around the place, and a half an hour later that same day, Saru noticed a very tall man (at least six foot and over) approach the young woman who had collected herself (her cheeks were still flushed) on an uncomfortable wooden bench further along down the hall. "Dear Hoseki...what happened to you?" he asked her. He was very tall, but not very lean. In fact, he was almost stringy in appearance with a fine square head of black hair and an old, handsome face with small eyes. The woman was tall for her age: at once Saru understood they were father and daughter. But it seemed all her muscles were strong and sound, thin, but quick and agile, with only her youth separating her from acting more mature. Her eyes and hair were both black too, but very woman-like, and even handsome were she not so red and upset. She continued staring down at the tile in shame. "Hoseki?"

Just then, the door opened back down the hall, and simultaneously, Hoseki stood and walked briskly down the hall in the opposite direction.

The man walked toward Saru's position, stopping before the door, "What is wrong with that girl?" the man asked with a father's concern.

"Kano-san, come in…She was too squeamish to watch the rest of the procedure…" the same woman with the short forehead explained.

Saru felt as if she left out the addition, "She's utterly useless," with that deprecating tone of hers.

So Saru returned. And Hoseki would be brave to return too, after such an embarrassing performance. He recognized the name, too. Kano was one of the best leading doctors the hospital had at the moment. It seemed his daughter was following in his very tall and narrow shadow. Without knowing if she was truly an able medic or not, Saru wandered around the place with the last sheet in his hands. Her only surface fault so far it seemed was a fear of blood. It was something able to be cured—she was a woman for Lord's sake. For a half an hour he wandered before he finally noticed her leaving a room with a clipboard in her hands like she was checking something off. An older nurse exited behind her with another stern-faced expression like now _she_ had the insipid duty of watching over the lead doctor's little girl. "Oh, miss," said Saru, "May I have a word?"

"Me…?"

"Yes."

The nurse took back the clipboard, proceeding on her way, and young Hoseki approached tentatively. He could see in her eyes some of the same nervousness and lack of confidence the Ichida had. Saru smiled. "Forgive me. My name is Saru-Shin, and I was wondering if you might consider this," He offered her the lone paper, and hesitantly, she took it. "It's a mission I'm leading, to the land of mist. You don't have to answer right away, I'll be coming back here again on Wednesday, same time. I'll wait in the main lobby, downstairs."

"Oh…" she said, still glancing up and down over the particulars, in general, it was extremely basic—"Um, me? Sir? Are you sure…?"

"Yes," he smiled kindly. "I'd be honored if you might accompany us."

"Oh…" she sounded, still in some bewilderment she would have even been considered: "Well, um, I'd like to say yes, but I'll have to check…"

"Of course. Thanks." He turned, but she said, "Thank you, sir," in a very heartfelt way that Saru could feel it. "You're welcome," he returned, and waited for evening to come.

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Once it did, rolling around past eleven-thirty, he went up the mountain side alone, and sat with Harou, who was already waiting and sitting there.

The two sat in silence for quite some time before Saru said, "So? Where have you been roaming? It's been a while."

Harou made a noise in agreement. "Here and there."

Saru began to grin when he said nothing else. The two sat again in complete silence for a few passing moments before Saru finally asked, "Will you say nothing tonight?"

Harou shifted.

Saru smiled. "Harou it is only six months."

"Indeed…why bother," he committed. "But just answer me this, why is it, Ryouma Saru-Shin, that I have such an odd feeling about all this all of a sudden? Hm?"

"I don't know," his friend answered all too innocently.

"Do not play with me," Harou muttered. "I'm not in the mood."

"Oh?" Saru continued.

"Yes 'oh'," he said, "I must away again in the morning, and I may not be back to see you leave. I don't know."

"That reminds me—I still need a journal."

"Go out and beg for one."

"Shodaime said he would have someone get me one."

"Shodaime is too _magnanimous_."

"_He's_ the one that wants the record… And you wouldn't _dare_ say that to his face Harou Nekai."

"No."

Saru grinned.

"Saru…" he continued after a moment. "I wish you would reconsider taking your brother…along…"

"He is ready."

"But is he prepared?"

"That too."

"Because there is a difference. You know as well as I."

"He wants to do this. He wanted something special for his twentieth birthday. So he will be in the land of mist for it. He's young, Harou."

"And he has recently lost his father."

At this, there was a small and cold silence until Saru resumed, "He is ready and very willing, and I think I have the team I want to do this. If he parts ways after, so be it. I've told him before I don't mind. But, life could not be better."

"Saru…" Harou said after a moment.

"I'm perfectly fine, Harou. Really."

"And…" Harou wisely decided no to ask him if Saru shared the same odd feeling about the mission, either. "So…that's it then, is it. Sayonara."

"Sayonara."

They sat for a moment longer.

"You're sure…?"

"Goodnight Harou."

"Yes. Goodnight Harou. I must sleep well for curriers' duty, _again_…"

"Well if I do not see you, the rest of the week, have a safe journey," Monkey wished.

"You too—I hope you're ship is big and impressive," Harou smiled.

"Thanks." Monkey grinned.

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Close to one in the morning, Saru returned to his and his brother's little apartment in the heart of town. Coincidence or not, the building (the address as told on the file) was also home to Morino Dalzen, though he'd never once passed the path of the gruff looking man. The Morino lived on the third floor while the brothers' Hatake lived on the second in the last room on the west end, with a wide window framing a perfect view of the mountain. Saru had lived in this room ever since he joined with the village. Saru entered in quietly, expecting everyone in that apartment house asleep, but he was surprised to find a small light on in their bedroom with that wide picture window. "Coushander—" he said when he saw him up, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I couldn't," he answered simply, sitting Indian style on his bed. "So I figured I'd wait up for you. I thought you'd be home much later…" Coushander lowered his head back down to glance over the local paper.

"I don't believe you," Saru smiled oddly, coming into the room more, "You hate reading that stuff."

"Yeah…There was nothing else to look at—or do. I thought about writing to Matty, but I wouldn't know what to say…"

"Sometimes you may find you'll think of something as you go. It doesn't have to be perfect. But, I did write to Mihure-san just two days ago that we were leaving. They should get the letter today, or tomorrow."

"Oh—really?" Coushander perked.

Saru nodded. He took off his vest, and laid it on his bed—they had separate twin-side beds in the large room, at least four times as large as their closet bedroom back home. Saru then walked to the window, and sat on the ledge, to look out.

"Saru—About…father's will…was that what we were really going to do?"

"You're welcome to go home at anytime, Kousa. You never have to stay here for my sake. This is my calling. I can do nothing else."

Coushander folded the paper away, after having read the comics several times over. He'd just finished reading the editorial twice over, trying to makes sense of some man's opinion over something nearly irrelevant. "No—I want to do this. But maybe after this…I really don't know what to do, really," he said indecisively. "I mean, I really like it here, but maybe after this mission, I'll decide. I just want to go, first."

"It's up to you, Kousa," Saru glanced at him, "It's all up to you."

There was a wink of tiredness and a twinge of something in the words Coushander was unaccustomed to. So, the young brother asked him, "Were you talking to Harou again? Where has he been?"

"He didn't say," Saru said after a moment. "But he said he's leaving again in the morning."

"Oh. How is he…?"

"Well."

A moment passed.

"Is there something wrong?'

"No."

Coushander gazed at him from the corner of his eyes, trying not to stare, but it was very nearly impossible. His older brother was usually cheerful and unplagued by doubt, or at least if he was troubled by something, he hid it expertly. Coushander understood Saru's connection with Harou, but it seemed almost something more than that, at least something more than the reminiscing of old and good times with Senju Karada. "Is it—father? Coushander asked softly. "I'm sorry, Saru, I didn't mean to upset you."

"No. It's fine. I was just going to stay up a little longer."

_And talk to yourself in your head?_ Coushander wondered. Even Ching Ling Soo never had crises of conscience that required sitting for great lengths in darkened rooms alone, and neither did Sun Wu Kong. Especially not the monkey king Sun WuKong. "Saru—"

"Don't call me that."

And just as quickly as the toneless infraction came did Saru-Shin retract it, giving spine for argument Kousa may have never heard it in the first place: "Sorry," he apologized, glancing downward to the weather stripping and grey caulk.

Coushander got chills. It began at the base of his spine, up to his neck, the kind where he straightened and became aware something was amiss. Luckily, after an icy moment, his older brother continued. "I have been thinking of father," he said quietly, in case by some freak chance Dalzen or anyone else could hear him. Coushander heard, and one more time the loss grew out of his young emotion, and he blinked back large mournful tears in his eyes. Since Takeshi had scorned his brother in youth, giving him that name, Coushander knew all of this was not easy for Saru, since Coushander was not aware if either of the two had truly reconciled. There was that moment Saru came back in uniform and Takeshi seemed impressed, even civil, but Kousa did not know if their father had ever apologized—or was that even necessary? Coushander did not know these things, and he dared not ask what he didn't understand. Ever since he could remember Saru hid his true feelings—even now, like Harou, and a few others. There always seemed two sides to their personalities, and to their memories. If there were only some way to know, Coushander thought, until Saru began speaking, not singing,

"My father's house, stands hard and bright. It stands like a beacon, calling me in the night…Calling and calling, so cold and alone. Shining 'cross this dark highway where all our sins lie unatoned."

Silence pounded in Coushander's ears after those words, those verses spoken: Coushander suffered another chill, and it crawled behind his ears, "Where's that from…?" he asked shyly.

Without moving his head, Saru responded, "The brown leather book. It's in my pack, at the bottom."

Hesitantly, Coushander uncurled his legs, stood, walked a few paces, and then reached into the blue duffle bag on the other side of Saru's bed. Sure enough, there was a brown book under the crumpled mess of papers—mainly old mission slips he needed to throw away, and Coushander tentatively resumed his position on his own bed.

"Read it, I don't mind."

Coushander glanced at him, and still his niisan stared along the clear and glassy _mado_. With a pause, and with care, Kousa opened the inside, his attention diverting to the unique inscription. And then, to the pages themselves.

Every one of them a song.

Kousa flipped though them all, in growing bewilderment. Every page was filled with verse, even that little ditty their father invented. It was all there. A short, surprised laugh escaped Coushander, and he looked at his brother in disbelief, "You wrote all these…?" When Saru said nothing, Coushander realized what he was holding. Regardless of their father's attitude, Saru loved song. And he loved the legends and stories they had been told growing up in their small home.

After a while, Coushander found the guts to ask him, "Did father…ever…apologize? Did you two ever truly reconcile… …niisan?"

Saru considered the question. Perhaps Harou was rubbing off on him too much, for Saru held the inclination to tell him nothing. He glanced at his younger brother's form for a brief second who sat there, unassuming as ever. Saru considered longer. He took a deep breath and sighed, hoping to rid the debate with the first answer that entered into his mind. It was a yes. "Yes. We did."

The words were spoken softly—there was more to it than that Coushander reasoned, but he did not know if his brother might continue. Maybe someday. In his own time. Coushander closed the book gently, with a small smile, reading the inscription one more time before he did so. After a moment, Kousa tried to levitate: "Maybe…we'll learn something new in water country. A new song."

Surprised, Coushander saw he succeeded in making his older brother smile.

"There are many legends in the land of mist," said Saru-Shin. "Care to hear about the mist men? They don't include stuff like that on all those brochures…"

"Saru! It's like two o'clock in the morning!" Kousa (quietly) exclaimed, stealing a look at the clock that read about fifteen to.

"The night is young. It will augment your anticipation," he grinned, and Saru got off the windowsill and closed the panel curtains to within two inches. He took the journal and replaced it to a drawer on a side table with a lamp. But Coushander instantaneously collapsed on his bed, pulling the pillow over the back of his head. Seeing Saru was not going to pursue the (gruesome) tale, Coushander lifted the soft white block and he glanced at the two katana in the corner, near Saru's side. "Saru—were you going to take that white katana with you?"

"Where—to mist country?"

"Yeah."

Saru shook his head.

"Why not?"

Saru smiled at him warmly, it was the first of one of those smiles his younger brother had not seen in quite some time; "I am not a swordsman."

His brother's infectious, genuine smile produced one on Kousa's mouth. "Yeah," he agreed. "Only _I_ need _that_ crutch. You're a_ real_ shinobi."

"That's nonsense Kousa."

"But I still suck at ninjutsu. You know it. I know it."

"Kousa…" Saru continued to grin at him. "You may…" he meant to say, he may grow more powerful in that respect than he, but Saru-Shin finished, "…surprise yourself, someday."

Slightly cryptic, Saru's smile turned over with his backside, and Coushander stared at his back as he often did when they were just two ordinary farm boys stuck in a tiny box room back home. "Arigatou," Coushander said. "…For what?" Saru-Shin's head turned.

"For letting me tag along," Kousa replied. He watched Saru smile and turn over again. And Coushander lied there, restless with thought before the sleep came.

.

Sharingan no Kakashi—Kakashi of the Sharingan; that's what they called him. Enemies and allies alike, which was strange since he did not last long in battle because of the special red eye—or so he thought it was strange. Jiraiya, too considered the praise rather quirky, believing, "I could kick your ass in two _minutes_." But Jiraiya never tested him, and neither did Kakashi put the verbs to work. The two did not see each other often, and when they did, it produced rather snarky comments like that from the sage which Kakashi, as instructed by Jiraiya, never really listened to.

But he continued listening to commands, keeping in service with ANBU for the allotted time period of six years. Beyond that, they figured it would have wearied any man with that level of danger and darkness… Forced then to quit, Kakashi left, taking break, but not leave. He was shinobi to the core. His father had given him that chance. He wasn't going to squander it. Twenty years old, and four years past the first orange book, there was still no sequel in sight…yet. Kakashi learned Jiraiya had written several other books and short stories, with diminishing success. His light (or popularity) as an author had been slowly fading anyway, as the only request he received nowadays was still the sequel to the Gutsy Shinobi tale. He declined these requests with a fiery and furtive attitude. The young man learned these facts at the village bookstore rather than visit Jiraiya's mother which Kakashi was still very shy of doing. It's not that he felt he was not welcome, it was that he did not want to intrude upon such welcome he was aware he had. His solitude still over-powered any connections he might form, or might exist, but he preferred it. And with youth, he was very resilient in his decisions. It was true ANBU was a brotherhood of sorts, and with the larger wars over there was time enough to loll around in the village with absolutely nothing to do, and people, rivals who recognized you. But family? The entire village was nearly so, but still. Kakashi clung to his reserve like it were the only thing left he owned to his name.

No less than a week home (and in that same apartment house he so liked) the twenty-year old was summoned—to Sandaime hokage himself. Kakashi would reticently agree Sarutobi had the most unfailing sense of duty of them all, taking back the position after Yondaime sacrificed himself, and still, here he was in that lonely hokage tower beneath the mountain, and all the worries and concerns that came back with the job…and the precariousness of local politics. Half-expecting some important assignment, Kakashi entered in expectantly, though with weariness of heart if it was such a case. Granted, he barely knew what free-time was, let alone what to do with it (father's trait…), but right now, he needed the rest (and the blessed silence).

"Kakashi," the sixty-two year old smiled. "It's good to see you. I'm sure you're wondered why I wished to see you, but honestly…I only wanted to welcome you back, and say hello. You have grown so much," Hizuren smiled. "Your father would be proud."

After a moment, Kakashi knew he had to respond. So he swallowed and he said, "I think he would be prouder, though, if I had become a farmer…sir."

The words were light and even a little lackadaisical sounding—Kakashi spoke like his father, and sounded like him too, and it caused the older man to hide a grin fruitlessly—"Still," he smiled. "As long as you are happy, in your present course, with no regrets—or as few as possible," Briefly, the older man glanced downward in solemnity, remember the young man's father; "As long as you are happy," he said again, "I believe he would be proud."

Kakashi accepted his word emotionally, and kept silent.

He looked up, "Have you seen Kano-san lately?"

"No sir."

"I believe you should go and see her, Kakashi," he said, "In all the times I have seen her in the village, she always ask about you, and always must tell her I do not know. She cares about you very much. Please take my hint and pay a visit. She is getting older."

"Yes sir," Kakashi nodded.

"And…one last thing," Sarutobi smiled. "I think now…you may be a prime candidate."

"Candidate—For what?"

"Being a sensei."

Kakashi stared—awestruck and utterly dumbfounded.

.

"He asked me to consider it."

"Oh that's wonderful! Oh do! Do consider it!" Keiko smiled warmly. "It would keep you in the village!"

Which he precisely did not particularly care for. "Maybe—off and on," he granted. "But missions…"

"Ah, but now, you could take some green genin with you," she said. "Wouldn't_ that_ be fun," she smiled knowingly.

He shrugged smally. He could not put into worlds how uncomfortable the whole idea made him feel. Being an only child, had had no brothers or sisters; he was never charged with care of someone until he made jounin that long week in Kusa, and then his duties latter in ANBU. He hardly thought even now he could not teach the younger generation anything useful… Still, he sighed. If Sarutobi himself asked him to consider it, dutifully, Kakashi would.

.

"Here you are, sir."

Jiraiya stared at the platter before him. "…What the hell is this?"

"It's your usual sir—in the shape of a kunai."

"A kunai."

"Yes sir—don't you see it?"

"Oh I see it all right—but answer me: why in the five great nations is my dinner in the shape of a kunai?"

"Er, we have a little…promotion going—since we donate to the ninja academy, our manager came up with this…idea for more donations from our customers…"

"Oh did he? Well…" Jiraiya eyed the steward closely, "Well next time, just bring me the _usual_, will you? It's bad enough to fall on my knife, but to_ eat_ it…Well, let's just say there's only so much I would do for the village…"

"Forgive us sir," the man said, and promptly left him a little shame faced. Once he was gone, Jiraiya let out a heavy sigh. Five short skewers of yakitori were knit and pointed on one end cleverly, and the hilt was composed of a rectangular block of rice on top a sliced cucumber with a dash of red pepper and the ring on the end was a fortune cookie. "What a block-head…" the forty-four year old murmured and started eating.

It'd been his only desire to bring Tsunade to this place for a quiet evening alone—ever since he was sixteen…or thereabouts… But the only places she preferred were the small ones scattered about here and there, nothing enclosed or confined. She wanted to stumble out on her own after she got drunk, and not have to worry about bumping in to anything, nor anyone. She did not like tight spaces in general, and Jiraiya was too large and too tall and filled up too much room for her liking. It'd been about seven years since she left. Rather, it'd been so many years since she went AWOL and took her pessimism with her.

Jiraiya hadn't seen it coming. She hid it well. Far better than he could ever hide something such as that. At least when Sakumo left the village, it was official…Jiraiya could not exactly say Tsunade wanted to quit and join a tea house: she just up and left, without any mention of what she was planning to do. Still. Whatever her mood was, Jiraiya still missed her company. Lately, it began to feel to him as if he were the last man standing on the battlefield, like back in Kusa somewhere. No matter where he looked over the hills and mountains and grasslands, he couldn't help but wonder where in the hell everyone was going.

He searched and kept tabs as best he could with contacts—Orochi had left the shady organization he attached himself to, like a parasite to a host, or was that a host to a parasite…? The organization, the 'Akatsuki' bothered him still. The majority of their dealings were ones to the type of cloak and dagger, amassing large sums of money, stealing; thief work. And Tsunade—Tsunade as far as he knew had not attached anything to herself other than the name of a legendary 'loser'. The sums of money she_ lost_ were enough to make her own grandfather faint and roll over in his grave if he hadn't done so already. Jiraiya shook his head just thinking about it: _stay away from the dice_…he moaned inside his mind.

True, Jiraiya admitted. Hope was a very small and singular word these days, but at least it still remained in his mind: no one he met could ever kill such an arbitrary thing, so why not hold out for it? The little thing had not let him down in some time—not since Sakumo died, and that was twelve years ago—twelve years! His nephew must be…twenty!

By the time Jiraiya finished, he felt positively ancient. He washed the cares down with some drink, and felt thankful his mother was still alive.

.

"Oh Jiraiya!" she exclaimed happily, "Did you return, today?"

"Yeah," he followed her after she released him from a tight hug, and he walked up two steps and into the kitchen where he sat down at the kitchen table, letting her take the seat faced toward the little window of her front yard. "Kakashi came to visit me today," she said, "He's finally quit the ANBU—or the ANBU quit him—did you know they're only allowed to serve so many years?"

Jiraiya was aware of a measure proposed to cut the service to four. "Oh—yeah."

"Can I fix you something? I just finished watering those flowers out front, I bought them yesterday—Easter lilies—did you see?"

Jiraiya nodded, "Very pretty. I just had dinner," he explained with a faint smile. "I got back at two…I think."

"Where did you go?"

"Oh, here and there. North and south—I just came from Taki," he said without much interest in his trip. "I saw my book in the window though," he smiled after a moment. He remembered a bright orange something catching his eye that he stopped to look. It was about the only thing that did. The Taki bars and taverns were not quite what they once were; there was a genuine shortage of pretty women. And Tsunade wasn't among any of them.

"Have you been writing anything?" she pursued with a warm smile.

He shrugged. "It's slowing down," he admitted truthfully.

"Well, I have an idea," she announced, "Just the other day I was thinking—How about…a book about two brothers back when the village was just starting," she said with a smile.

"Aw, I can't do that…"

"Why not?"

"I'm not into historical…I know, I know…" Jiraiya said after he saw that stern look of hers.

"What about two sisters then?"

"I don't want to write about girls, either."

"Well, you sure know their anatomy very well…" she got up and filled her own cup of coffee on the counter.

He rolled his eyes, perturbed his own mother said something like that. He could actually anticipate, verbatim, as she continued on, "Why can't you settle down, Jiraiya…There's still time!"

"I don't think marriage is really for me…" he stated a little plainly, hoping one more time saying it might put end to it. _That_ hope was not in his future however.

"Nonsense…If Dalzen got married, anybody could get married," she smiled faintly to herself, "Have you seen Tsunade?" she asked him, suddenly reminded of her, "Do you know where she is…?"

"Last I heard she was up north somewhere, near Rice country—lost quite a sum of money…"

Kano frowned.

"Yeah..." Jiraiya concurred in his tone that matched the sorrowful look on her face, "I still don't get it either."

"Reach out to her—you two have always been so close."

Jiraiya's smile twisted. Almost forty years experience, if he dared so much as _look_ at her the wrong way, he could be the one sent flying into high orbit. "I've tried, mom, but it _never_ works."

"Then try again," she offered. "Sometimes it takes too many tries before a person comes around. After all…I thought I heard Sarutobi talking like he really wanted one of you two to take the seat of the hokage when he's gone."

Jiraiya smiled, "Then it should be her…So long as they don't trust her with the village funds…or evict me…" He said with a feeling she would have that advantage to her if he ever ticked her off again.

"Oh!" His mother said suddenly, "Did I tell you Kakashi might consider the role of a sensei…?"

"Huh?" Jiraiya exclaimed in bewilderment.

"Sarutobi offered it to him," she smiled.

"Whoa," he said disbelievingly, "I go away for three weeks and the whole world turns upside down…"

"Why is that so silly? If I remember, you were not so much older when you looked after those young children in Rain…"

"Yeah, but Kakashi? He can't honestly want to do that…"

She smiled, "He is no longer a child."

"Yeah—well, he'll always be thirteen to me," And crazy, Jiraiya added to himself.

"Well now that's how I look at you," his mother returned. "The wheel turns, Jiraiya."

"Well…sometimes, it feels like it's broken. Mom—did you ever have a midlife crises? What are the signs?"

She laughed, "Um…yes…try your father," she smiled, "Not that I regret it. But I suppose, for a second time…you learn who you are and need to be…I became a mother. And I wouldn't have traded those days for anything. Everything that has happened," she said wisely, "Happened for a reason. Your father told me that," she added after a moment.

Jiraiya smiled a little, remembered what his old man had said in his letter. He wasn't a mistake: he was unexpected, at least on Coushander's part, but he was wanted. "Was there anything else, dad left behind?" Jiraiya wondered aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, a letter…or diary…"

"Well, there was your brother's letter, and then the one he wrote to me…and then yours…I believe that's about it unless you want to go looking through what all Sakumo saved; letters, bills, receipts…Oh but there is one thing," she said, and turned around, reaching for a stack of paper on her counter. Kano turned it over, "I saw this today, and I couldn't believe it," She handed her son the Konohagakure paper, and pointed at a photo on the right hand side. "Did you know that man?" she asked.

Jiraiya shook his head. "Why—did you?"

"Well, no, not really. Rion and I would see him frequently at auctions, but I had no idea he was a realtor," she smiled oddly. "I can't believe I didn't. I wish I had—and I just wonder if maybe he could have been the one Coushander—your father saw. That man was always collecting blades. The next time I see his son at an auction, I'm going to ask him. I made a note to myself not to forget," she smiled, "Jiraiya if my mind ever goes, please put me down."

_"Maaaaaa!"_ Jiraiya moaned.

She grinned, "Please?"

Jiraiya shuddered, shaking his head. She was eighty-eight. Jiraiya suddenly could feel Tsunade smiling at him, from somewhere, but he didn't sneeze. She must have kept her mouth shut. Instead, he focused on the article, explaining the man's life, his family, and his hobby. "Hm," Jiraiya found something to remark on, "D'you think they'll part with that extensive a collection? I mean, there are other blade collectors out there that would probably pay big money for what he had."

"I don't know," she shrugged, re-taking her seat. "I'll have to ask him that too. I think the nephew might want it. He seems like he's an avid collector too."

"Oh?" Jiraiya uttered inquisitively for the sake of taking about something other than her age and his martial prospects.

She nodded. "He buys furniture mainly," She laughed softly, remembering the little Senju table Rion nearly ran away with.

"Oh," Jiraiya said. "I just wondered," He continued scanning the article, but he noticed something. "He had no children…?"

"Just his nieces and nephews apparently," Kano said. "Never said he married or settled down. Seems strange."

"Yeah," Jiraiya agreed.

Stein was ninety-three.

"He would have been Coushander's age," Keiko added.

"Oh…" said Jiraiya.

.

Long after her son left, she was left again alone to herself in her new home, with her saved memorabilia of Coushander, Kiri, Dalzen, Saru, Takato, Rion, and the rest. She happened to see her small silver pentagon tucked away in her jewelry box: she smiled, remembering; Jiraiya was three or four yeas old, and she'd just put the boy down for a nap. He screamed and fitted at the very word every time, but it had to be done. Surprisingly that day she was able to sing and read him asleep (Jiraiya was always susceptible to the '_Akira's Magic Garden_' story). So she quietly left his room as he slept, careful not to squeak the floorboards, and she made her way to her room, but she stopped suddenly when she saw Coushander through the six inch gap of the open door. He was seated quite tentatively at her small wooden desk where she could see him fingering something extraordinarily small but reflective: it was her pentagon medal.

From the angle, he could not see her unless she might clear her throat or open the door the rest of the way, and she dared not do either of those things, for he looked so distantly curious, sitting there like his legs had merely gotten tired from standing, and by happenstance, the chair was there, and again by happenstance, the medal had been laying against a picture of some medical diploma issued to her some time after Kiri. He fingered it in his scarred left hand like it were a thumb tack that was forged by a samurai of the north west: something intriguing, even mysterious, but all the same, an ordinary, plain object. She actually fought back the urge to laugh at his idleness. He did not like being so. Being with him again for this long prompted that reaction. No longer was she fiery and indignant over the way he threw out his medal, or the way he buried that past to the point he could not bear having Saru's name mentioned in front of him or elsewhere. This moment proved he had come a long, long way. She had never seen him take a passing interest in any of her things, except herself of course.

She watched him purse his lips and pretend to sigh over the object like he was not really that interested by it as he fingered the thing nearly at arms length—he did not bring it close to his face for examination like Jiraiya would do with a big crawling brown June bug under her flowerbed. Coushander knew what it was. He knew what it stood for. And she felt a little pride for him, he was recognizing it…in his own way.

Suddenly, his eyes glazed over the small medallion and within the second it took to idly glance at the door, his half-closed eyes opened wide with shock as he saw her frame and face behind the door—dropping the medal and standing upright so fast that he nearly knocked the small chair over (and luckily not himself), he swallowed as she gently opened the door wide wider with a smile growing on her face:

"I swear to God—" he burst quickly, "I wasn't touching it."

Her laugh was soft, inside her throat.

"I swear I didn't touch anything," Since she was blocking the only means of escape, he was forced to stand there like an idiot and a snoop he knew he looked to be. However, after a moment, she walked over to him with her tall, womanly figure and she took him in her arms and kissed his cheek: Coushander did not enjoy being rewarded this way. He managed to break free with a gruff clearing of his throat like he wanted to go about his idle business. "I did not touch _anything_," he said again firmly. He was proud he still knew how to lie…even if it did not mean anything.

"Are you staying this evening?" she asked.

He pursed his lip again, debating the pros and cons. He wised to hell it was Thursday he thought when he glanced at her calendar hanging on the wall, under a wooden shelf. Since it was not, Kosaka could not give him the excuse he needed. "I don't know," he answered simply. The answer gave him no obligation.

Still holding his hands, she moved them up a ways to his arms beneath his elbows. He was wearing his old light blue kimono, patched and patched again from constant wear. The smell of it reminded her of rain and open country, with the warm day going on outside. "I love you," she smiled softly, enthralled by his presence.

A wave of tiredness hit him after her sentiment like he'd been running for miles, and her home was the only shelter he'd found along the way. So he swallowed down a little reluctance and said, "I love you, too," in return, in a quiet tone, more from inner gratitude, than anything else. She pulled him in closer and kissed him again. He pretended she was about to mention Saru-Shin, and so he kissed her back.

To heck with Kosaka and his meetings of utter importance… …

He might even skip another tomorrow, one more time.

.

After an early lunch, Jiraiya waltzed around town, looking around at the sights, looking around for his one and only nephew. He expected to find the boy—the young man—at the bookstore, but instead he viewed the newest bestsellers through the colorful window showing navy covers about demons, vultures, oni, and acupuncture. Jiraiya chuckled. He stood there for a moment, so tempted to go inside and read all those novels and formulate his own reviews. That's when the idea hit him: why didn't he become…a book reviewer? Well for one he was seldom in the village these days to keep up on all the latest releases. Still. The idea appealed to him in the downtime. There wasn't much else to do anymore. Jiraiya went in and browsed around at length, coming out pleased at least one young man recognized him. Even if it was the manager.

.

"I'll confess to you young man—" The twenty-year old jumped slightly, "—I did not think you'd be _here_, of all places."

"Ji-Jiraiya-sama."

"I thought we agreed on _Jiraiya_-sama."

"F-Forgive me…" Kakashi continued to stutter in his father's bedroom. "How did you get in…?"

"The front door. Why. How did you get in?" When Kakashi couldn't produce an answer, Jiraiya smiled, "You sure aren't your father's son when it comes to that sensory thing. Granted. He did lose his sense when he feel off that mountain in tsuchi…" Jiraiya trailed painfully.

"…I remember that," Kakashi said quietly after a moment.

"Do you? You were what, five?"

Kakashi nodded.

"You dusting?"

"Yeah."

Jiraiya looked around for any noticeable signs of his work with the taupe rag in hand and a small bucket with brown-gray water inside: the tops of the cabinets were all clear and dust free, but the air felt clingy. All of the personal items, the picture frames, the papers and pens had all long since been boxed away, and nothing remained here now but those boxes. Some were out, but most were inside the lower cabinets for storage. Jiraiya could not tell if the boy had worked at all in the garden save for the view of the empty paddock on the left hand side, so Jiraiya inquired.

"No," Kakashi answered. "I was going to get to that after I did the house…No sense getting dirty and then doing all this…" he trailed almost in the same fashion as his uncle, but with more languor, like his father.

"Oh," Jiraiya nodded. "…You go through any of his stuff?'

"No."

"Oh. Well. You should."

"…Why?"

"Well…because it's fun going through other people's stuff—God, don't you people have any fun anymore?"

Jiraiya then got the faint sense his nephew wanted to say something smart back at the white and grey-haired sage, but he bit his masked tongue and refrained. "Which reminds me," that tall sage said after a pause as he leaned against the doorframe, "You going to have fun with some genin?"

"…How did…"

"The how is not important Kakashi. An ANBU—sorry, a _former_ ANBU should know that. It's the why, and for what reason. You going to consider it?"

"Well—yes, but—"

"But what?"

"Jiraiya-sama…I am not qualified to do something like that. I barely get by on my own, without having to watch over some ten year old child."

"Minato was once a child. And so were you. And you were taught just as well. Never forget, Kakashi, a shinobi _also_ exists to train the younger generation to carry the torch for when we are gone."

The two silver-haired men stood in silence for a moment until Jiraiya said, "You missed a spot," pointing to no where in particular and left him with that.

Kakashi could not find the spot he was referring to, until he remembered Jiraiya once told him not to listen to a word he said.

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Six years later, Kakashi met Naruto. In person.

One more year later, Tsunade finally returned to the village soon after Sarutobi's death from Orochimaru's devastating attack upon the shinobi village. She became Godaime hokage.

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	50. Off the Eastern Wall

(Quick note from the lunatic author…: Well. I finally made it. Praise God. It took a measly four and a half pages in my notebook, rather than the usual 20 something. Oh dear God, Enjoy. "Sing me back home, before I die…" Thank you so so much for reading. Thank you thank you beyond words; without further adieu…)

_Coushander  
コウシャンデル_

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Chapter 50  
_**Off the Eastern Wall**_

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When Jiraiya was fifty-three, he decided to see a god.

The decision was prompted by a desire. A genuine desire, emoting from the depths of his inner curiosity and suspicions. The desire was strong enough to surpass one of Tsunade's final warnings, "Toad-sage Jiraiya," she told him, "If you go, I am going to evict you."

The so called sage gave a belly laugh. "You and what army, little lady?"

She lodged a strong finger into his chest so hard it stung and left a bruise, "Me and my index _finger_, lummox."

"Oh," he said simply. Then, he smiled, "Ooo, I'm_ so_ _scared."_

With lightning fast speed, she flicked that finger up under his jawbone and he was sent flying.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming, and that's not to imply he was ever idle or blind of outcomes and consequences. One may call him a fool, but he couldn't exactly be called ignorant. Jiraiya knew where he was going. And so did Tsunade. And perhaps, Tsunade was the most worried for him, despite her displays…of affection.

Jiraiya had heard reports from his extensive group of contacts. Tracking Akatsuki was something he had been doing ever since he discovered the late great Orochimaru had joined once. Jiraiya had heard the rumors and bargains, treachery, thieving, and their seemingly limitless strength as a collective, or more primarily, as in pairs of two that had whipped his young nephew fairly well. Some were even immortals, and all were clinically insane. (A trademark, it seemed.) And Jiraiya understood all of this information very well, and yet he needed to go, and see for himself. The consensus in his mind may have agreed on it, but he himself had never proven it. A so called adonais (who happened to look exactly like Yahiko…) of this small organization had walled himself up in the steel towers and folds of metal in Ame. What a mysterious place indeed. To hide. Really—what did this 'god' need with immortals and madmen anyway? Jiraiya smiled.

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The battle was intense. And as the last solider left deserted on an empty battle field, Jiraiya fought it alone with courage, ninjutsu, and summons. But in the end, the rain ninja—or the three—no, six of them proved too powerful for him. He didn't get angry or frightened, it wasn't in his nature to do so, even when he was dying. A frog that lives in the bottom of an old well will never see the ocean, but Jiraiya did anyway, just like his uncle. The red stripes were all he needed to prove it: they'd grown, and touched all the way just under his jaw line. He'd endured failures, he'd endured life and love and loss, but he had _endured_. And he had not given up.

No surrender—no retreat. No regrets. Oh Sakumo, are you listening…? Oh father, are you watching…? Oh mom, I love you. Oh Naruto; thank you.

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The sun had not risen yet. Rion taught her well. She arrived there at about seven with a clear blue dawn overhead, sparkling a navy sea-blue, getting lighter and lighter until the yellow sun smiled over the trees. There were no tents. There was no threat of rain with a thriving barometer, high and mighty. The conditions were perfect, for an auction.

It was out in the open, on the lawn of an empty lot rented out in the village for the purpose, near the rural area on the east side, she did not have to travel very far being in the east herself, just outside the ninja village. She was third to get a number from the portable folding desk. Besides the stub, Kano also took away a paper listing other auctions hosted by the particular local auction service. Not that she was looking to buy anything—she was ninety-seven for God's sake with wrinkles and black hair—black hair! "It's nice to look," she had told the woman sitting behind the table with a small smile. And oh, were there a seemingly endless supply of clean white folding tables stacking with knicks and knacks and collectables. But here, she admitted, this particular auction was different. Stein's nephew died quite suddenly of an illness just last month, and apparently his wife was not a blade collector, nor admirer. The rest of the nieces and nephews took what they wanted, if anything at all, but the bulk of it was to be sold immediately. Like unwanted baggage, it had to be dumped somewhere.

It took Kano the next half an hour to get down to the end. There went the bigger blades, some forged centuries ago which the real blade collectors, the ones who were arriving now with oodles of cash would be gazing at, and the sizes gradually descended: the large blades, the medium sized blades, and then the small and smallest blades, ones mingled with jackknives, each, most painstakingly having their own number attached to them. "Lord," she murmured, seeing the high triple digits on some, "It must have taken you forever to number these!"

The youngest auctioneer nodded, "Yes ma'am," he said genuinely, like he meant it one hundred percent and they spoke nothing else until she returned to look, one by one, at all the engraved black kunai. The names were many. The practice had been so popular around the time the village was formed, but like a passing fad, now it was only done with money in your hand at a place where precise engraving was done. Kano smiled to herself; many names were those of Hyuuga and Uchiha, Senju but of course, as well as many others without those prominent names, simple genin and some chuunin men who once served with those three major and powerful clans that had bound together in the face of so much adversity. And oh, that binding had held. For as long as her lifetime, she wanted to say it had secretly gotten stronger every year. The camaraderie endured with courage through storms, and conviction through strife. These were some of the names of those incredibly brave men. The thought was enough to make her weep with profound joy and endless comfort, but she did not, she held it in for the while she looked and smiled. At least not until her wrinkled dark eyes did a double take to read one name in katakana.

Oh Reader, can you guess…?

Kano Hoseki stood there and gasped, her heart suddenly beating quite swiftly as she saw the long name she knew she recognized. She slowly began to cry, keeping her eyes on the object every second lest she lost sight of it in the sea of other identical kunai. The young man noticed her, and walked toward her slowly, never taking his eyes off her, fearing she was going to sob so heavy she'd loose herself to weakness. But Keiko remained standing as the last of the five and she wept with pure joy in her contented, fast beating heart, "Oh Kousa," she murmured with her cheeks wet. "You gave it to him," she said. And here she had to take out a handkerchief from the pocket of her navy vest. The young man continued watching with some alarm until she laughed. "Oh Coushander," she spoke to it, calling his name. "Oh Kousa," she whispered. She retreated the cloth, but never her tears and finally noticed the bright young man watching her attentively with concern. She laughed again, toward her own reaction.

"He was my husband," she said, laughed, and cried at the same time. "I loved him, dearly. I wouldn't give up loving him," her voice trembled. "It was the happiest time—of my life," she laughed, her heart aching, yearning.

"Lady…" he said after a silence she spent staring at it, "If it means that much to you, you can have it, no charge."

She looked at him.

"Honestly," he smiled.

After a moment, tentatively, she reached out her frail hand, and took it in her hands. It didn't feel heavy, in fact, it was quite light. The most precious thing in the world, next to her tall son gone somewhere again. She looked at it for a long time until the kid—the young man asked gently, "How long were you married for, ma'am?" Expecting to hear nothing short of fifty years or so, he was shocked as her tears, her deep dark eyes glistened, "Only five. Five years."

He blinked in bewilderment while she stared at it longer, wiping her cheeks, smiling all the while, seeing nothing greasy nor unclean about it. Kiri had washed off from it long ago, and yet it had remained, whether in some box or showcase, she could not know. It didn't matter. "May I?" she looked up, "May I have it?"

He smiled, "Sure. It may not be wise though, to tell my father. But yes," he nodded kindly.

"Oh…" a laugh moved in her swiftly and lightly, like the sea breeze when first they came, and first they left. "Oh thank you, young man. Thank you so very much," She laughed softly again. "It bought his dreams," she remembered how furious she was when he threw it away, or in this case, threw it at someone who at least knew what it meant. It bought him sweet, delusional dreams of another life, another way, another purpose. She laughed again, holding it gently, in her hands, getting her fingerprints on it, her memories of him. She smiled with tears in her eyes and she left soon, before the bidding ever started with a contented heart that beat for another seventeen hours—enough time, to return him home.

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by Kariko Emma, _Caliko_


	51. Chapter 51 Author's Epilogue

_Coushander_

_-__コウシャンデル__-_

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Afterword: **Author's Epilogue:**

_The Belated Author's Note…:)_

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Colorin, Colorado

Ya mi cuento se ha acabado.

_Scarlet, or ruby red_

_My story has been said._

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Whether this story is proved AU in any large way, small way, shape, or form by Kishimoto's discretion…I have no objections. It's turned out the way it has for a reason, and I will not be changing it in any way, nor would I want to change it. (Except in the case of ff dot net screwing with the presentation of course. That still ticks me off…Hopefully no other format changes will affect it. Knocking on Konoha wood…!) _'Coushander'_ worked on the basis sage and sannin Jiraiya and shiroi kiba Sakumo were brothers, or at least half-brothers, and that whole idea is something short of romantic, quixotic theory.

And Caliko, before you say—write, another darn word, _why_ in the world did you write this?  
A: One of the reasons, was, simply, to see if I could.

This is not a perfect novel. Having said that, it did make me realize fully what perfect is, and how better to achieve it. I will love it always for teaching me not just that, but so many important life-lessons. I felt like I lived out an entire lifetime, while writing this novel. Well, several lifetimes…:

_People:_

First off, I have Tahle to thank for my favorite Morino. She let me use the name, and I thank you tremendously my dearest friend; I love that name, and it fit him so well. Dalzen was one of my dearest characters, possibly _ever_, next to Coushander. I got more emotional over D's death than Cou's, for a simple reason: I wrote Coushander with the knowledge he wasn't making it far into the novel. I wrote Dalzen knowing he would pass on too soon, and it was definitely too soon for him. And I should say something too, about the way my Dalzen ended—in my mind, Coushander and Dalzen both shared very similar ends: they were both killed by their line of work. I wanted to simplify it in that way, and I did it intentionally. However, in the start I had no intentions of stereotyping my Dalzen after the dark Sasuke we all know and love (or not). Dalzen was twenty-three years old on that Kiri mission, and though his family was the target of a certain faction like the Uchiha had been, Dalzen had no will or chance for revenge against the people and politics that took away his family and home to the land of sand; it was hinted later in a conversation with Chinatsu, that if he had ever returned there, he'd have most likely been tailed, and then imprisoned for the sins of the father, so to speak. It was a major thing about him in the beginning that he didn't trust anybody, nor did he expect kindness from anyone, but he did live with a dream that home of his in the 'county 14' would some day return to what his father and his uncle always remembered it as. In my mind, Dalzen spoke the greatest line of this novel ever, when he first met Sakumo out on the bench. "Your father…hates ninja?" Yeah. That bit continues to make me laugh whenever I think about it. Dalzen's just so shrewd…

I think I first wrote the name 'Coushander' in 2005. Originally, he was part of a trio including 'Refinane' and 'Solloway' in two other stories I was going to write, but they never came to fruition, so I thought 'Coushander' deserved his place here, with Sakumo. Kousa, his nickname as Saru called him, coincides with both _kousaku_, which is the cultivation of land, and _kousan suru_, a verb, meaning to surrender or give up. I didn't know this back in 05, I only began research on it as I began to write this madness, and the irony began to drip out the seams at that point so I knew then, it was truly meant to be. Sakumo's father needed a name, and like in Dalzen's case, it only seemed right in the most homely of ways. I add here, Hatake 'Matsuko' (or Coushander's affectionate 'Matty…' and by the way, this was before I ever knew about Cranford! So I was so proud to notice another fellow 'Matty' in 2009, played by none other than the amazing Judi Dench), but 'Matsuko' denotes a pine tree and long life. (Which was again really ironic in her case, so I'm really sorry Matty…) My Matty was so sweet. I think the reason chapter 20 was so long, was because I wanted to show this girl's everlasting sincerity and temperament, and the sort of happiness of the union, like in an Austen novel. (I'm a sensible girl, you expect me to resist those influences?) And as dear Kosaka once rightly said, she kept her husband firm on the ground like no one else could have done. The two were childhood friends. The _three_ were, I should say; there's no doubt she cared about them both deeply like older brothers. She was a very caring person.

I am a fan of J. Conrad, in case nobody noticed. (Trust me, you would have had not to have read any of his works to miss Cornelius, Doramin, Ransome, and Stein, just to name a few.) Kano Hoseki's name came to me after looking up the meaning of jewel, or namely, something precious, which 'Hoseki' means, and it coincides somewhat with the girl _Jewel_, from J.C.'s novel _Lord Jim_. Her nickname Saru gave her, _Keiko_, was just a name that Saru and I liked. I always thought _kekkon suru_, the verb meaning _to marry_ sounded like Keiko, so I always imagined that name was like our English 'Mary', and our verb 'to marry'. I don't know. I'm probably really wrong to see it that way, but I do. And even then—I liked writing her name as simply Kano, more often than not in typical Japanese last name-first name fashion. She was more than a case of unrequited love (erm, on two accounts…). She waited long enough, and what she wanted came to pass. She blows up to Dalzen about it when first we see her, but that's just her getting what she wanted…in the worst way possible, and she can't deal with it—the only person who can is Dalzen, who in addition to being able to let it go, was gone frequently. But, at that point, the three left over from Kiri had had enough of Coushander's flagrant bastardizing (again, on two accounts: Kano and young Sakumo…), and then the confrontation began. Cou slowly comes around, going through one nightmare at a time in his big reformation, and Kano sticks with him because it's been in her nature, and she can't deny that. I wrote chapter 24 with a torn mind about the title of it. 24 chronicles (I hate that word) the new and slow happiness the two found with each other when Coushander owned up to what made him. But the title was fitting in two different ways: he had left Kano behind, with the (steadfast but delusionally unfounded) hope he would come back at some point in her life, but he had also left behind little Matsuko when he followed Saru's footsteps in the first place. So, it was two fold. He remembers Matsuko's letter in that chapter who understood that all his shinobi friends must 'miss' him, among other things. It was her tacit understanding of him that he finally realized she was right about it all. It leads him to ask Keiko what all his suffering was for, and she was the only person there (rightly so) to give him an answer. It was an answer concurrent with one of the themes of Naruto; when Shikamaru begins to understand this concept as well, from his sensei. From then on, Coushander slowly accepts it, and Kano, _Keiko_, continues to stand by him, until the end. That too, is another slight bit of a fairy-tale ending, all but a little short, but meaningful, nonetheless…

Ichida Takato, in my mind, can roughly translate to 'One' and 'Strength'. I always felt like both he and Saru were the odd ones out, since I wrote so little for either (introspectively) and for that, I deeply, deeply apologize…But Takato remaining youthful, to the end, was like Kiri continuing. (And I did bring Saru back toward the end in a different light, which I had wanted to do for a while.) Originally, for chapters 31 and 32, I was planning to bring in some cool unknown ruffian man to deal with Sakumo and what our nineteen-year-old saw in the great divide, but the second time around I thought about it, Ichida Takato stood up and said he was right man for the job. I couldn't refuse something that (and probably neither could Nidai). And he _was_ the right man for the job, for his nature was actually extremely similar to Sakumo's. He was the exact sort of calm the young man needed right then. I will always love the scene in the wagon though, where the four are coming home, where Dalzen sort of bails on them and expresses some slight anguish over meeting with Shodai… Well Takato smiles and tells them if he can't do it, "…then…I will." That sentiment was one I knew I would write for him at the end. That scene was the very first one I had from the very beginning while going through the Kiri conquest. It showed he finally had some confidence in himself, at the end. And speaking of 'until the end', _usque ad finem_ was an inclusion I wanted to make because it says simply, what I mean of all my characters: (until the end) we persevere.

Saru-Shin, of course, is 'Monkey Heart', based off the (fantastic) legend of Sun WuKong. His original name, Ryouma, is derived from dragon,_ ryuu_ and horse, _uma_. Kudos to the Psi-Corps trilogy by J. Gregory Keyes. If I hadn't read that, I might have never known the legend of Sun WuKong in the first place. And speaking of legends, our legend-obsessed father—Hatake 'Takeshi' is a name 'unbending like a bamboo tree', which is totally odd considering he came from a mountain…oh well. (Author's discretion RULES!) When I come up with names (this is totally true, Tahle can back me up), I like coming up with _more than one_ for the same character. Saru is a prime example: Ryouma, Saru, and english, 'Monkey'. Personally, I really like having a character I can refer to in other ways. I'm not sure where this fancy came from; what book it was. But I suppose part of it is, after writing the name 'Coushander' thirty thousand times, it gets a little redundant. (And for the record, Tahle informed me his name was written only about 1220 times. To me, that didn't seem like very much. But given, I have to count all the extra times I wrote Cou as 'Kousa' or 'Kousaku'—what Saru and Takeshi liked to call him respectively.) And one last thing concerning Takeshi and his legends…every legend, the Naga and the Mountain story (Legend of the North Star/Why the North Star Stands Still), the White-Faced Bear, the Courage of the Prairie Rose, each one of those are genuine Native American legends…since I didn't know any Japanese ones, and I wanted to keep the legends Western, although 'Naga' really tied in with Nagato and Jiraiya which was neat.

Haruda, (the frequently drunken) Zerejin Okami ('wolf'), Razumo, and even Naomi/Naoko Haruda are names slightly based off the ones in _Under Western Eyes_, by J. Conrad. 'Cornelius' is there, too, just because I wanted him there. Ken Shingatte was for Tahle, since Ken-Shin…yeah. And Kaguya 'Kamenosuke'…get ready for this…means 'turtle's helper'. I stuck with the Uchiha to water country theme in lieu of Madara and his revelations after what he did there. (Though at this point in time as I write this ch 503 is current, what Madara did there is vague, but overall, we know he survived for his own personal evil goals and ambitions and made those connections in other countries.) Water country, or the land of mist and fog was a good place to go anyway since it is obviously so cut off and isolated from the mainland. I always imagined their problems were mostly domestic, and not so much foreign. The bloodline massacres later on is what resulted from the instability that plagued it. I only tried to support a small backdrop to stand behind what Kishimoto already created. There was also a (Shakespearian) phrase Saru quoted as the fog and foam cleared; 'So foul a sky clears not without a storm.' Indeed.

'Shijuu, Gosen' translates to Forty, Five-thousand. That was meant solely for humor…if anybody caught that…

Ah, and my dear _Shintaro_ Kosaka (whom I am so fond of) is homage to _chief_ Kosaka, from WHR. Don't ask me why, I just wanted it that way, and he didn't mind. I love the way Kosaka and Coushander were first introduced. Kosaka was right, and Coushander knew it too. That kind of self-enterprise and hard work isn't for the money. It's always for something else; someone else. Kosaka did change a little; he wasn't exactly a static character. He grew to adopt Coushander's easiness in the very end, and not live so much with the worry of other people's opinions and needs, especially if they were in opposition to one's own core values (think Mr Gosen…). But Kosaka was a people person; something Coushander never really was.

Hoshi, of course means 'star', and I know Chinatsu (a thousand summers) gave her that name. Meanwhile, Teal, is, well, just Teal, because Dalzen is _so_ original… No, really, I thought a slightly-Western name would sort of…seem right in that case. (Author's discretion…) One last thing about Teal; I knew for absolute fact, that Dalzen would die from his line of work to share the similar fate of Cou (only I didn't know when in the story yet I would put it in). But in result of Dalzen's sad fate, I knew Teal was destined for a life then, of scorning intelligence work and their procedures, since in his now painful experience, it's a dangerous line of work, and it can result in death. And we all know his future son (or one of his future sons…), Ibiki, works there constantly as a profession, knowing that he possess that special knack his grandfather had. Oh irony; How I love thee…

Young Seichi? In my mind, Orochimaru established 'there's always some bad apple in a trio of ninja'…right? Sasuke continued the tradition, etc, etc…But Seichi was interesting, since at first, he's neither good nor bad, he just went with whatever. But in lieu of the war, I decided Seichi was a good apple after all, as it's stated he served with Takato's group in the north, falling to Kakuzu in the second ninja war. Here I add Shin was also an interesting 'neither good nor bad' at first. I first slip him in with Sakumo and Dura, and then he goes on further with Sakumo at the Great Divide. It was written on purpose back then that Shin knows Sakumo is not the type to 'snap overnight', because I was considering turning him into the Judas, and not Seichi. And since that event at the Divide, Shin became easily molded to the politics of the day (which everyone is always subject to), and eventually becomes willing to betray him for those politically correct purposes. (Which is of course, maintaining a level of personal fiction against the simple canon reason—I'll get into that later…)

Hyuuga Hiromasa's (broad and just) son, Naoya (similar to Naoko/Naomi; a name meaning straight, denoting a true path, and a name that myself and Yoshiko obviously really like) had a roller coaster ride. He succumbs to the doubt he once dissuaded Sakumo from at the Azurano, and recluses himself to being a groundskeeper at home. He's not exactly similar to Coushander, but he's not all that different from him either. And for that reason, Naoya was another one of my favorites. Since Sakumo's tragedy (chapter 40), we get the impression Naoya began to change and was no longer as sarcastic, cynical, and reclusive as he once was. Naoya was really one of my favorites…

I should mention Murasaki Masago, since I'm fond of her. Murasaki is of course, 'violet' as in the color, and _Masago_ is name that denotes sand and long life. 'Hideki' is 'exxxxcellent'. The two married, and lived happily ever after…all but living through a war pitting Suna against Konoha, and having a child, who actually served a large role in that war. But Masago had gotten war-weary, so to speak, or rather, she did not want to be with Sunagakure in that second war she knew was coming, and it led Murasaki to her resignation just before that war. (More on that later…)

One more, little Rinsano. Ok, so there's a 'Rin' in Kakashi's team, and there was also a Ransome with the young man in Conrad's novel, _The Shadow-Line (A Confession)._ Primarily, I based Rinsano off the latter, but his nature is wholly unassuming and polite like the former. I liked writing him and Sakumo together with the effervescent 'jumps'; it was fun. I had to come up with so many names in this novel, sometimes, it made my head spin, in which case, my head would hit the notebook and I'd groan once more. Not just people names, but names for places, Japanese names. (By the way, _Satsumasendai_ is my fictional favorite place, for the record.) I take a moment right now to thank God, Google maps, and Midol…

There are three pure and obvious western names (besides Cornelius) that appear in this story, beginning in Kiri, and in this order:

cryptic Jeremiah – 'Yahweh throws' as in establishes, appoints, or sends—as in laying a foundation. He offered direction to Dalzen, who had reminded Jer of his son.

kind and simple Ezekiel – God strengthens; strengthened by God. Whom Coushander met when Cou was looking to quell the insanity and memory in his veins.

and blade collector Daniel – God is my judge. Who carried on the memory detailed in the blades until the end, where Cou's was returned as Kano carried it home.

Daniel Stein was my Stein, as loosely paralleled with that in _Lord Jim_, by J. Conrad. Except in my case, Stein waved sadly at the blades, rather the butterflies. The way Conrad ended _Lord Jim_ still brings me to tears whenever I read it, and I wanted _Coushander_ to end that way, or at least similar to it; with a sense of continuation of the various memories attached to those blades; as if there is a someone, a constant, still looking on, and remembering; and that there are those, like Kano, who would remember the name of a dear sweetheart. Though, I regret, I couldn't quite carry Stein himself to the end, only Kano was able to give the honor, and rightly so.

If I've missed anyone, I'm sorry—again, there are so many people that had to make up this novel like Mizuno and Nora and so many others. But at last, but not least, Dura Nekai's father, Harou, is a name based on one of J. Conrad's friends. (And is in **NO** way based off the man's personality. After reading _Joseph Conrad: A Life_ by Zdzisław Najder, there was no further record of him beyond the Congo Diary. I checked. Yeah, I get curious really really easily. Or is that ADD? Ah well.) I only know Prosper Harou was Belgian, and my friend Tahle informed me that the actual pronunciation of Harou is…well it's just different than the Japanese pronunciation. Still, as I typed his name, I always thought of the true pronunciation. So that's a take it if you see it, I think, meaning-wise.

My Harou embodied that theme of forgetting, and remembering, and vice-versa. I suppose only later we learn he was attached to Saru like a brother, and the two men themselves, first described as former teammates (both serving under Karada) their natures were nearly polar opposites: Harou was quiet like a recluse, a wandering 'nomad', and Saru of course bounding, energetic, happy and eccentric Saru. Together, the two could counter their personalities in such a way _I_ envied them. I still do: Harou could find optimism and comfort with Saru's wild hope, and Saru could find solace in Harou's blatant pessimism. Yes. Harou had wanted to go on that mission to the land of mist, but was denied, and he never saw Saru again. He did fall off his own wagon at that point, and succumb to solitude, a little like Martin Decoud (from _Nostromo_). He led an odd life, but I think he led a mostly quiet life, burying himself in the missions until he could not turn away from the perception he formed that they didn't mean anything anymore. This was clear-cut by him seeing the _Notsuhodo_, and Shingatte, where Shingatte himself, for reasons and events in his life, turned a bit the same way. His only care was his ship. His only anchor, was his ship. Harou began to search for his anchor, and he knew logically, it was his family (for he was not irrational), but in the end, he had been able to cut himself off so well from everyone else, he sees death as the only viable option of escape as only a suicidal person does. (And plus, Hashirama was not around to haunt him with the failed attempt we learn he took shortly after Saru's team returned.) Hence; the chapter was called 'Madness Or Despair,' as J.C. effectively described it in '_The Secret Agent_'. What I did not write about Harou was that like Kujo Rion, Harou was Kusa born, but grew up mainly in Konoha. Harou stuck to currier duty (carrying messages back and forth instead of summons) until that fateful or fated day when seeing the _Notsuhodo_…Then, he began to alienate himself to his loving wife and son; he continued on out of _obligation_ until he could not bear it any longer…...

…Sakumo turned this way.

And Kishimoto let him turn this way in general, for better reasons of honor, for his son's name. But I showed he turned this way not just for that important cause, but for Harou's reason as well. Harou's story was Sakumo's story, in parts and pieces. Yoshiko's death was his own turning point. And since that time, like Harou, Sakumo began to lead a different kind of life; the kind of one that always leads to insanity and/or self-destruction—mainly both. If I've learned anything, they're one in the same.

_Story:_

If you're reading for the base roots of 'Coushander' itself, they are simply these: right after and sometimes during TotW, and even through the early stages of my 'Princes Familiar', I got to thinking I should do a full history of Sakumo and Jiraiya. And before the story you knew today, Coushander was meant to die _alone_, which I knew would make for a very short and very odd little story. It wasn't until I actually proceeded with that idea haphazardly that he raised his head a little and muttered something so softly that I barely heard, "I had a brother."

"What…?"

"…"

"…Who—What was his name?"

"…Saru."

_Saru-Shin_, I thought, for I started to remember that one Monkey character from the Psi-Core trilogy. (And as an ADD note, I only read books one and three. I never found book two. Please put B5 books back into print please…, esp. the 3rd Peter David one…)

I often have these types of conversations with my characters, for by no means are they artificial to me, nor do I lead them on a string like a puppeteer. They are real, and often with great reluctance do they tell me where they have been, and where they have come. The best advice I could ever give is the advice of Ray Bradbury, J. M. Straczynski, and anyone else who thinks this way: let the characters write themselves. (Writing is really really easy work that way.) And too, coming off a high I think after reading '_Dandelion Wine_', I had then the sneaking suspicion there were others Coushander knew about, and wasn't telling me. They turned out to be Kano, Dalzen, and Takato. But there was one other major difference in the beginning I tell you only for the interesting but dumb sake of being told: after Sakumo signed on, I considered, briefly, Coushander could be asked by Nidai to take on some final mission for Sakumo's sake, which was super dangerous or something so it might spare him some pain. In short, I decided against this. There would be too many particulars (bad guys, boat rides…) that would fuss the story if not handled properly. And back then, I had no idea how to handle prose properly. Miserably, I still don't. But, I hope I've at least made progress. So, all in all, it was back to dying alone…sort of…

I wrote in the beginning, I wrote many things in the beginning, but the biggest thing is, you don't become a farmer and expect to make millions. More often, you don't own a private business and expect anything more than just being able to support your family. I wrote it was a sense of help, of support, that drove young Sakumo to continue asking about the shinobi's way of life. A genin is profitable. Naruto proves this. But of course Coushander with his problems like invisible elephants in the room won't even let himself hear the _word_ without plugging his ears and humming really really loud like season 1 G'Kar at a conference with a Centauri at the table. (B5 reference.) Obviously, it's no coincidence dear Dalzen found the young boy in the swift twist of fate. And I love that scene, to this day. It was a mistake, of sorts, Sakumo's cast out as he is. And after his father dies, who can say what Sakumo is really meant to do? So it was on purpose I led Sakumo to question why he remains what he is. Dalzen's death almost climaxes this: _am I to honor his memory and continue this,_ Sakumo wonders, _or am I to take my father's route and quit? _These are the two choices he's presented with. Naoya disclaims that his physical condition is making him crazy—but Sakumo begins to realize being shinobi is more than following orders, it's about following your heart. (And in Naruto's case, your _nindo_.) But Sakumo is and does forever remain torn about: being shinobi, and remaining faithful to what his father created. The fact that 'fever' was something Sakumo continued to experience (starting with Azurano, then Kusa, etc.) was more than just meant in a physical sense, but in the mental sense, of that state of having a secret delirium within you, driving you crazy. Sakumo's time at the Azurano was also crucial in another way: he said he'd been ready to abandon the mission for the sake of protecting the people in it. Lucky for him, Arashi had been lying the whole thing. But as Kishimoto presented us: Sakumo was a man who was willing to do just that, for the sake of his family and his friends.

Back to Coushander for a second. I can't say that there was anything hard about writing his story other than that really long and painful lull I suffered with chapter 15. I am really really sorry for that to this day I apologize so much. I didn't post a chapter for a long time. It was not because of plot issues, because honestly, past chapter 5 and onto 10, I knew **exactly** where everything was going. The issue was, simply, a confidence one. I still consider myself an 'F' grade author trying to aim to be a good one, A or B or C., even after writing this. There's also another reason why I waited to post chapter 15. And if you want to know, ask Tahle about it. But regardless in the end, I swallowed my fear and Coushander continued. So, you have my fear to blame in the end, and again I deeply apologize. No one but me wrote and proof-read all 50 chapters. I wrote in my notebook, then would get on my clunker and type, and then post. Sort of a three step process I do.

By chapter 9 and ten and 13, I had the flashback chapters named and planned and everything, all the way to a named chapter 25, knowing that chapter Cou would die and his funeral would commence, leaving the other 25 chapters to Sakumo and Jiraiya. I knew it'd be a 50 chapter story since that point, what I did not know is that I could write this freaking much. A better author than me could have handled _Coushander_ far more properly and gracefully, but at least with me doing it, I learned the hard way, and I at least_ learned_ some things about life and the writing process in general. I guess the only hard part about Cou was going on to write about Jiraiya and Sakumo, since I had spent so much time planning Coushander's story in detail. I had to go a bit off the map with Sakumo, continuing his story, not knowing yet I would be writing a novel that spoke about staying true to your heart, and in this case, how Sakumo did not.

Maturity does not happen over night. It happens over the course of numerous events and realizations, and after about the tenth revelation you're damn 'jolly sick' of it and ready to take life as it comes. It's a learning curve, I think. J. Conrad once used the frayed line of the shadow to demonstrate this, and I felt it was the only way. My Great Divide was just that, a literal fault in the earth between, well, earth country, and waterfall country. There Takato and Sakumo himself is able guide himself in what it means of both being ninja and being a man: carrying out your duty. The narrator in the actual _Shadow-Line: A Confession_, once said that he would see that ship to the Indian Ocean. Sakumo writes Kano, and says he would see that mission to it's end. Kano in turn is finally able to grasp this maturity too in some ways, learning especially the young man was incredibly powerful for his age (which he must have been). And foremost, Sakumo becomes able to deal with the grim realities of his line of work—still haunted by it, but not from it. He's still only 20. He grows further. He copes a little better. He also becomes into the man behind his nickname. He's quiet. He's taciturn. He's powerful. And as I let Takato observe…Sakumo's got his uncle…and his father in him. Speaking of which, I had a hard choice, in whether to give a rousing, fantastic back-story to how Sakumo acquired his nickname…but I chose not to. I felt it was evident enough reiterating the red hunter dog (whom I dubbed Korado) and Sakumo's white chakra. Two things are not my forte: war, nor romance. That's why I stopped after the Great Divide, and offered the most generalistic of things in the second and third. War is not my strong suite. In my life, I can only hope to thank those who serve for us. They are way more amazing than I will ever know.

I had to, however, present the usual horrors and events that plagued the shinobi world after the founding. Kishimoto gave us three great wars—I imagined the first one being somewhere in Dalzen and Takato's time frame, the third in 13 year old Kakashi's time frame (as actually stated), and the second one in young Tsunade and Jiraiya's (as stated)—the Suna, with the younger Chiyo and at that time, when Tsunade's younger brother died, and the three students of Sarutobi go on to fight Hanzou. With all that madness, I was thinking only one thing: it was a year of hell. So I named it so. It was indeed a year of extraordinary sacrifice—as Hizuren remembers (or defends) Sakumo's record later…

'In Due Course' was one of those natural progression chapters; holding out the hope that maybe, with time, the road would straighten once again, but like in all stories, tragedy is the constant. Or maybe, I admit, way too much of it is in my works… (which probably explains why I suck so much at romance.) Babylon 5 helped me get through the changes and courses more than most, by way of the humor ('And the Rock Cried Out' and then the somber 'Confessions And Lamentations') and then chapter 40's 'Severed Dreams'. Initially, I had about 4 or 5 phrases picked for that sorrowful chapter, but in the end, JMS got me like he always does, so I hope he doesn't mind 'Severed Dreams' was the only title that fit 40 so painstakingly well. With the loss of his wife, Sakumo drifts into despair, unable to cope in the way his father did, since Sakumo could easily run back to being shinobi and get lost in the monotony. So after his short resignation (which I SO wanted to do so so badly, since it concreted his desires to be something other than what he became), he comes back once again. And like his father did, Sakumo learns to control that sorrow and insanity aforementioned, and keep it well hidden in his heart even though Jiraiya learns of his brother's near fanaticism of it's worth to him.

But like everything does, the madness surfaces like the wood in the ocean Coushander clung to: the regret haunts him and the pity eats at Cou's son. It's the madness, and the despair that cause one to even think of consider suicide (minus the honor reason), and Sakumo had them both in spades. But even through that, Sakumo continued to do his duty without compromise until the end. And here, a bit of personal fiction is inserted on my part: like the Uchiha, a conspiracy could have easily been issued against Sakumo, the origins of which hinted by Root or some such. But regardless, Sakumo's selflessness led him to first save the lives of his comrades rather than continue his mission. That is the only thing Kishi focused on, so it is one of the main things I tried to focus on. And being selfless, that is exactly why I named ch. 45, 'Five Flat Rocks', because Sakumo had never had that type of blood on his hands before; pure and innocent life was staining his hands, and that is what caused him to break so easily. (As Kitano knew after studying the man as an interrogator, and after the jackknife was…doctored.) That innocent life is also what caused him to fall into the despair and pity in his final days with the regret, the horror, the pity, and little boy he was father to… So Thus. He really did give Kakashi the greatest gift he had ever known: the chance to follow his dreams.

Following dreams is a big theme inside _Naruto_. And to have lived a life of regret like that…Well…is just plain sad. Out of anything anybody could take away, I hope it's that. I hope nobody lives their life from inside a cavern of regret. I didn't know the story would go that way while writing chapter 25, but as every author _should_ know, I did know how I wanted the very end to go:

Jiraiya and Kano close out the novel. Well, Kano mainly, since she happens to outlive her own son by hours or a day or so. But what goes around comes around, and as I mentioned aforehand—the blade got to come back home after Stein (and his nephew) kept it for so long.

And, I will say something about Jiraiya, too, briefly. While I'm not sure who would have been the easiest character to write for, I will say Jiraiya, by far, hands down, was the hardest. After I read the story '_Denouement_' by Kimi no Vanilla years ago, Jiraiya and I did not get along. That Jiraiya—or that side of him stuck with me even now. I can only hope my uneasiness did not show, or not a lot of it anyway. In the end though, I think even Jiraiya would come around eventually. Keyword there being 'eventually'. I believe he never really got over Sakumo's death, and therefore treated his 'dearest (and only) nephew' Kakashi with some of the rawest forms of civility. But…I always pictured the sage living in a tree house. All the time I read the manga and watched the show (the part 1), Jiraiya seemed to me the type that could live in a tree house secretly between roaming and womanizing and writing. Some of that Hatake simplicity keeps him humble, and up a tree while he makes amends (and deals) with things he cannot change.

.

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_For Fun:_

If I've left out anything, or if you have any other questions you'd like to ask me, you can always leave me a message and I can get back to you soon as I can. I think I've explained just about everything. Jiraiya knows his novels better than I do mine. I could name off all fifty chapters by heart, but the actual beginnings of each chapter…? Mmm…nope. Totally blank. Except for a few, like the 1st and 50th chapters, I know how _those_ start _definitely_…

Finally, I'd like to include a little few somethings you might find interesting, if you're reading this.

First, I love song, and it influenced me a great, great deal. There, I said it; I can be bashed and singled out now as one of the only bluegrass-influenced anime writers, but I'm actually proud of that fact. (Takeshi stands next to me!) I wasn't sure if I could balance out (to some extent), western culture and traditional Japanese, but in reality, there is the slightest mix of the two in Naruto, and I think that's why it appeals to so many people. I fully appreciate and respect Kishimoto's work. I love Naruto. And while working out the early stages of this story, and after I discovered my Coushander had a brother, I knew that's exactly where I wanted to go with it. (If I can't make it my own, why write it?) They always say 'write what you want to', and so I did. So I blended in a bit more western with the theme. My idea of western translates into the simplicity and beauty of bluegrass-style music and stories. Together with that, Chesterton, and Conrad, I feel I'm unstoppable…! Ok, that was really dumb. But, in truth, I appreciate all kinds of music, it's just bluegrass is my favorite. And so I list for you now, in honor of the fifty chapters, fifty songs that I regularly listened to while typing this crazed madness. I came up with fifty songs, but I also made a different list, called Saru's List, which I've collected much more old-time and new-time bluegrass songs. (And still growing…! He needs another journal!) Oh, and yes, I would have really liked to have put 'Loch Lomond' in this list, but I couldn't find a good version of it outside of the one in 'Cranford'…Albums are in parentheses:

1.** Dixieland** –Steve Earle (Live From Montreux or 'The Mountain' with the Del McCoury band) _Even if I stubbed all my toes, this would be the song I dance to. You can't beat Steve's solo performance of this on the mandolin. "For Colonel Joshua Chamberlain, we're all goin' down to Dixieland…" One of the best songs I know._

2. **The King's Shilling** –The Del McCoury Band (Del and The Boys) _Two boys who join the ship, and go off to war. One of Saru's favorites, and also discussed by the two brothers… "There's no turnin' back once the salt's in their veins, their spirits fly free, like a dove…" The whole album is simply one of the best ever._

3. **The King's Shilling** –The Battlefield Band (Out For the Night) _A different version, and still wonderful all the same. It's the only song (or version of the song in this case) Coushander could think of off the top of his head when baby Jiraiya couldn't sleep, "My love has left me, with bairnies twa', and that's the last of him, I ever saw…""_

4. **The Girl I Left Behind Me** –Dix Bruce (Melbay Mandolin) _Since I couldn't find a good version of it with sung lyrics. Saru could supply it. Although, I'm sure Cou would cringe. But, who cares. Traditional classic. Like to pick this one on my own mandolin; it's an easy tune with meaningful lyrics. "But should I ne'er return again, still with thy love I'll bind me, Dishonor's breath shall never stain, the name I leave behind me…"_

5. **The Catfish Song** –Townes Van Zandt (At My Window) _A reminisce of the ravine; more in Saru's perspective than anyone else._

6. **The Parting Glass** –The Wailin' Jennys (40 Days) _Beautifully sung version with no accompaniment. This song __**is**__ Coushander's tacit farewell. Also traditional favorite. Definitely went into Saru's notebook._

7. **The Last Thing On My Mind** –Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner (Legendary Dolly Parton) _Upbeat version of Tom Paxton's song. Love their duet. Fitting in so many ways. And as Dalzen asked of Cou before he left, "Are you going away, with no word of farewell…?"_

8. **I Will Always Love You** –Dolly Parton (Legendary Dolly Parton) _A song that will live forever in music's greatest farewells. I bet Keiko hummed this one throughout her days after Kiri. I couldn't resist, either…_

9. **Jericho Road** –Steve Earle (Washington Square Serenade) _"I met my brother, walkin' down the Jericho road; his hands were bloody, but his face was clean…" 'Nuff said. Listened to this one a __**LOT.**__ It was the title of chapter 19._

10. **Paddy On the Beat** –Steve Earle & The Del McCoury Band (The Mountain) _Steve Earle asks at the end of the song, he 'don't know why people could dance to that' and I answer truthfully, "BECAUSE IT'S PRETTY!" An instrumental. Matty and Cou's wedding tune most likely… (_The Mountain_ may be one of the greatest albums I own…)_

11. **Drawer** –Summercamp (Pure Juice) _Wonderful band of voice actors who are also great musicians. Or musicians who are voice actors. Always liked this CD, never ever regretted buying it after wanting it so long; and this song reminds me of Coushander and the old chest in the basement. "One more floor away…"_

12. **I Don't Love You Much, Do I** –Guy Clark (with Emmylou Harris) (Boats To Build) _Need I say more? Oh, I do? Well, ok… "I don't love you much, do I? Just more than human tongue can tell, that's all…"_

13. **The Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn** –The Stanley Brothers (Bluegrass Essentials) _Simple truth. Foreshadows Cou's troubles in entirety._

14. **I'll Never Grow Tired of You** –Claire Lynch (Out In the Country) _"They tell me lately, you're livin' so wrong, but I'll never grow tired of you." I believe I know who _that_ sentiment was directed toward…teehee…_

15. **My Love Will Not Change** –The Del McCoury Band (Del and the Boys)_ Next to '1952 Vincent Black Lighting' (which I think is a Minato/Kushina song in all rights and persuasions), this song is one of my favorites from Del McCoury besides the other 43 or so…Keiko held on to it and remembered it always when Saru told her the lyrics, and hummed the tune back in Kiri._

16. **Stay** –Lisa Loeb (Tails) _Lost love song so familiar to Kano._

17. **Are You Still Mad** –Alanis Morissette (Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie) _'Perfect' was possibly the flagship song of my youth, along with all the rest of that album 'Jagged Little Pill'. This song was off the second, almost played as much as the first. Caliko = Big fan of Alanis Morissette's music. About the only 90s music I still love and listen to is mostly all from her. Personally, I think this song in particular is amazing._

18. **I Don't Know Why** –Alison Krauss (written by Shawn Colvin)_ A renewal of happiness, hope, and new life, in my opinion, as much as Coushander came to it so begrudgingly… "I don't know why I know these things, but I do…" An early recording from Alison, and it sounds so sweet._

19. **Black Sheep** –Stonewall Jackson (The Great Old Songs) _I admire story songs, and that's probably why I love bluegrass so much, because the songs tell stories, instead of blasting manufactured chorus lines of some of today's country and nearly all of today's pop/rock…I wrote once this was at the top of Saru's List. The song itself explains why. "…Don't be angry with me son, I know I drove you from my door…"_

20. **Old Friends** –Guy Clark (Live at Austin, TX) _"…When it's hard to put your finger, on the thing that scares you most; you can't tell the difference between an angel, and a ghost…" That line gave both me and Coushander some real chills._

21. **The Next Time I'm In Town** –Johnny Cash (Montreux, 1994) _I saw him sing this on the PBS special on TV, it was the closing song, and it brought me to tears. That's the talent, magic, and goodness of Mr. Cash._

22. **Angel Band** –The Stanley Brothers (Go Buy It) _This song is immortal, I don't care how many people disregard or pass up this song; this. song. is. gold., and it will live forever. I love it._

23. **The Kerry Fling** –William Coulter (The Road Home) _Some songs, and in this case, instrumentals, just remind you of a certain time and place, or event. Like 'The Catfish Song', this song screamed two boys with their magic ravine, on cold lonely nights. Love it._

24. **Prayer In Open D** –Emmylou Harris (Cowgirl's Prayer) _Perfect follow up song, as it speaks to everybody in the story, not only Cou, and sort of ties back in with 'The Parting Glass'._ _"With the rock of ages in my bones, someday I know it'll lead me __**home**__." If you ever want me to annoy you cruelly, I'll pick this tune for you on my mandolin._

25. **Your Long Journey** –Alison Krauss with Robert Plant (Raising Sand)_ Like this version. Love this tune written by Doc Watson and Rosa Lee Watson._

26. **Sing Me Back Home** –Merle Haggard (Live From Austin, Tx '78) _What's a playlist here without Haggard? Without Mac Wiseman? Without Tex Ritter? Without etc…? I've always like this song._

27. **Warrior** –Steve Earle (Live From Montreux) _I drew a __lot__ of inspiration from the simple power of this song. Steve has a way with words, he's amazing. Go. Flee. Listen._

28. **Sweetheart, Darlin' of Mine** –Claire Lynch (Crowd Favorites)_ "I knew from the moment I saw you, we'd have a love for all time." Ah…memories… : )_

29. **Soldier's Joy, 1864** –Guy Clark (The Dark) _If you ever long to hear a nitty gritty civil war tune, it's this one. (Trust me.) 'Dixieland' and 'Soldier's Joy' are both upbeat, but both tell a grim tale about this era in time. I couldn't believe this song when I first heard it. Guy Clark is one of the greatest songwriters this planet has ever known. (Trust me on that one, too. Go google 'Randall Knife'—that song nearly made this list.)_

30. **Rain Into Snow** –William Coulter (The Road Home) _Great transitional song, like the title tells._

31. **Far Away** –Pickin' On Series (The Bluegrass Tribute to Nickelback's '_All The Right Reasons_') _Soo…what was that about manufactured songs, Caliko? Ok. But this is the __**bluegrass**__ version. As if that makes a difference… =D Actually, I like this song, and after that whole 'Sakumo was away in the war' drama, I heard this song again soon after I wrote that mess, and I'm like, 'Holy Cow, that totally explains it.' So, it earns a place here. Congratulations. Notice the lovely mandolin in the background. It helps drown out the occasional odd punk-rock line, "Stop breathing, if I don't see you anymore…"_

32. **Bonaparte's Retreat **–Berline + Crary + Hickman (Chambergrass: A Decade of Tunes From the Edges of Bluegrass) _I'm not sure these guys are on the edges of bluegrass since they play this song so amazingly and so traditional—it's my favorite next to 'Forked Deer' on the album. I saw these guys on PBS's Jubilee and I knew I had to check them out._

33. **Magnolia Wind** –Guy Clark (The Dark) _If Randy Travis doesn't have this song on his stereo, I'd be really really concerned. Like, 'oh, the world really must be ending' concerned. Maybe the greatest song I've heard lately. If I could ever sum up both Cou and Sakumo losing their wives, it's this song. It's so sad. I first heard it in the dead of winter, and I could smell the magnolia as if it were May. "I'd rather be deaf, dumb and stone blind, than to know that your mornings, will never be mine…" Maybe that's pathetic, but I'm just not so sure._

34. **My Antonia** –Emmylou Harris (with Dave Matthews) _From love and loss on Cou's side, to brief romance on his older brother's side: so it was more of missions than ambition that routinely took Saru-Shin away, but, "Behold, I am with you, wherever you are…" Are all my written romances like this? Short, sweet, and tragic…? Perhaps I need to read Sense and Sensibility again…And as a P.S. note, I had several songs from Sarah McLachlan on here too. Too many songs. Such a little list…_

35. **Moonlighter** –Claire Lynch (Moonlighter) _"And those leftover chores, from the midnight before, are still waiting for me; once again I'm caught between a rock and a hard place…" Congratulations, Sakumo, you're a single father now, with too many responsibilities to count. I know, let's sing a country song about it. You have no idea how bad I wanted somebody in Cou to break out a banjo and play. Sadly, I wasn't going to go that far…Not that I regret it—it would have been kind of awkward._

36. **Transcendental Blues** –Steve Earle (Transcendental Blues) a.k.a.: Sakumo's song_. 'Nuff said. (No seriously, __enough__ said.) Sucks being the best, don't it? Living day to day, with these "transcendental blues…" I lived the first line for so long, when writing this…_

37. **Man of Constant Sorrow **(Instrumental) –John Hartford _One of my favorite songs. And Hartford does it right as a quick instrumental. He's a wizard with a violin. Absolutely love the Indian War Whoop._

38. **Five Flat Rocks** –The Del McCoury Band (The Promised Land) _First off, let me say I think this is one of the best versions of this song. Now, you may wonder why I chose this song as a title for Sakumo's, well, end. Well. David - Goliath principle. And if you remember, Harou was the one to bring up that idea while he was talking to Saru one day (or night). Either way, it's one of the good lessons from the Holy Bible; this song recounts it well, and Del and the boys play it great._

39. **Out Among the Stars** –Claire Lynch (Silver And Gold) _I really like her version, and the chorus speaks to all. "Oh how many travelers, get weary…"_

40. **Swing Low, Sweet Chariot** –Johnny Cash (Ultimate Gospel) _Cash once said, "If they ever convict me for being a Christian, I hope they have enough evidence."_

41. **Twenty-One Years** –Lonesome Pine Fiddlers (Bona Fide Bluegrass & Mountain Music) _Between the time he was 8, and 29, twenty-one years passed before Kakashi met his father again. (Oops—that was a manga spoiler…sorry!) And when I figured that out, and saw this song, I laughed. Poor Sakumo. This song catalogues his time in jail, not for a woman, but for his son, as Kishimoto so gifted us. "For twenty-one years, boys, is a mighty long time. A year went by slowly; he wished he was dead…" I bet he freaking did, too. But Sakumo, that's between you and Kishi now, don't be mad at me. =)_

42. **Rex's Blues** –Steve Earle (written by TVZ) (Erm, an acoustic Berlin performance…)_ In addition to the old song 'Loch Lomond', I also used a few lines from this song as two chapter titles. This song is simple, and it tells a lot, especially when it's done acoustic like this and properly tributed as Steve did._

43. **My Father's House** –Emmylou Harris (composed by Bruce Springsteen) (Songbird Collection) _Ok ok. So what's this list without one little song that relates to Kakashi? The first half of this song does it, in spades, and the last half Saru speaks the pain in the closing verse in front of Coushander in chapter 49. Emmylou's voice is brilliant on this song. But, sentimental me, Kakashi did not actually sell the place. THANK GOD. =) Or should I say, thank you _Obito_._

44. **Brother Flower** –Townes Van Zandt (Rear View Mirror) _Amazing song. And eerie too. (As if this was written by Coushander eerie!) This song goes back to Cou's perspective primarily, in my mind, and it's rather touching, if you'd give it a listen. When it's all said and done, Cou has a conversation with Saru-Shin… "Brother flower please awaken, show the sky your face of blue; Let me know I ain't forsaken, seems like all I have is you." _

45. **I Ain't Ever Satisfied** –Steve Earle (Together at the Bluebird Café) _Besides being a universal truth, I imagine it's one of Jiraiya's own flag-ship songs, if ever there was one. I think this is it. Yep._

46. **The Long Way Around** –Dixie Chicks (Taking the Long Way) _Personally, the only album I own of theirs is the bluegrass labeled '_Home'_, which was a fantastic album, complementing all of their talents, and the instruments. The story TotW took some inspiration off that one after the final song since it was a bit of a song-fic. But this song is a lot like Jiraiya, and a lot like Cou, leaving behind the old, and always, always, making it that much harder for yourself paving the road how you want to take it. But, in the end, the road should always lead you home._

47. **The Road Home** –William Coulter (The Road Home) _I picture Kano going home, walking away with the blade, in the final scene with this music, and Coushander, too, when he had to walk home and bury Saru and Kiri at the same time. Had a lot of instrumentals from him; had to cut off (by a really narrow margin) 'Bill Malley's Barndance' after 'Warrior'. Yargh! I think this list should have been 100 songs, and not 50…._

48. **With Your Blessing** –Summercamp (Pure Juice) _Another Jiraiya song, if ever I heard one. No, seriously. And it makes me smile (for that sake). "I will gladly be the fool you could never play." Great singing Tim Cullen and Sean McCue._

49. **The Mountain** –Steve Earle (Live From Montreux or The Mountain, with the Del McCoury Band) _I often ponder if this is the greatest song of all time. (Behind 'Angel Band' of course…) Either way, love it so much. I'm sure for Takeshi, it brings back memories. "I was born on this mountain, a long time ago…"_

50. **Be Gone Forever** –Guy Clark (composed by Anna McGarrigle) (Cold Dog Soup)

"This is a lonely captain's story…"  
"This is a lonely nurse's story…"  
"Sometimes a legend, sometimes a beggar; This is a lonely hobo's story; cane and a switchblade by his side…" _"Do Lord, oh do Lord remember us…There will be a singer, whenever our time has come to die. __**Be Gone Forever**__…" A song that literally, when I heard it progress, brought me to tears. I first heard it when I was somewhere writing ch. 42, 44-ish—I can't really remember now, but I heard it, and I just broke down and cried as Guy Clark sang those words. It was Coushander's story. Word for word. _

Put this list on 'repeat', and you might dance all night.

Thanks for reading—hope you enjoyed it and found something to take away. Writing Coushander was (quite simply) amazing. Long and grueling, probably way longer than it should have been, but happily, I don't regret it. Any of it. I love them dearly. Kano and myself were sharing the exact same feelings at the ending: she felt joy. And so did I, as I wrote the final word.

.

Began: **Wednesday July 16, 2008** at 1:35p.m. (on **MS Word**)

Ended: **Wednesday June 23, 2010** at 8:25p.m. (on **MS Word**)

Word Count: 376 K.

Pages on MS Word, 538

**Began on FF dot net August 11 2008,**

**Ended on FF dot net July 26, 2010**

Their word count (minus chapter 51): 410 K-yeow!

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Chapter 1. Welcome Home, Jiraiya

Chapter 2. Welcome Home Sakumo

Chapter 3. Heart of the House

Chapter 4. Ye'll Take the High Road

Chapter 5. And I'll Take the Low

Chapter 6. First Impressions

Chapter 7. Way In the Middle of the Air

Chapter 8. The Black Sheep

Chapter 9. In A Place Foreign

Chapter 10. _The King's Shilling_

Chapter 11. _Journey to the East_

Chapter 12. It's Just the Night

Chapter 13. _The Forgotten_

Chapter 14._ And the Rock Cried Out_

Chapter 15. _A Race Through Dark Places_

Chapter 16. _Light of the Island_

Chapter 17. The Ones I Leave Behind Me

Chapter 18. _The Parting Glass_

Chapter 19. _Walking Down the Jericho Road_

Chapter 20. _Twenty-One Letters_

Chapter 21. _My Love Will Not Change_

Chapter 22. In Your Confidence

Chapter 23. _Nobody Will Suspect Dalzen's Inquisition_

Chapter 24. _The Girl I Left Behind Me_

Chapter 25. Angel Band

Chapter 26. Memento

Chapter 27. The Kicks And the Halfpence

Chapter 28. Madness Or Despair

Chapter 29. Arashi of the Azurano

Chapter 30. Confessions And Lamentations

Chapter 31. To the North (A Landslide)

Chapter 32. Shadow-Line of the Great Divide

Chapter 33. It's Just the Dawn

Chapter 34. A Field of Dreams

Chapter 35. Sweetheart, Darling of Mine

Chapter 36. The Land, The Sail, and The Pen

Chapter 37. Fighting the Tides

Chapter 38. Year of Hell

Chapter 39. In Due Course

Chapter 40. Severed Dreams

Chapter 41. Ride The Blue Wind High And Free

Chapter 42. She'll Lead You Down Through Misery

Chapter 43. Magnolia Wind

Chapter 44. Moonlighter

Chapter 45. Five Flat Rocks

Chapter 46. Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Chapter 47. Konohagakure Blues

Chapter 48. Hatake Jiraiya's Prayer

Chapter 49. To the End of Night

Chapter 50. Off the Eastern Wall

Chapter 51: _Author's Epilogue  
_

.

Two: Did you think I forgot? For fun…:

_**Author's personal favorite quotes or observations from the years—er, chapters:**_

I dearly hope some of these make you smile!

.

"…Do you have no respect or compassion for your brothers?"

"Indeed you are _mistaken_…" he muttered in curt civility. "Might I remind you, Gosen," the Hatake locked his eyes on the lord's unflinchingly. "That you are speaking to a private citizen. I have the full independence to choose to sell to whomever, or not at all. And I can inform you and this forum that I have chosen the latter." –Typical 'Gosen' with equally typical Coushander (Chapter 4, _Ye'll Take the High Road_)

.

"…I'm sorry," the man rebooted his mind. "_Are_ you _crazy?"_

"No. I am a lunatic." –Typical Kosaka with typical Coushander (Chapter 4, _Ye'll Take the High Road_)

.

"…You…Time has not tainted _you_, I see."

"Nor you. I do think your hairstyle is the same as it was thirty years ago."

"It's been twenty-seven years," smiled Dalzen, shaking his head at the number. "Twenty-seven." –Typical Dalzen with typical Takato (Chapter 4, _Ye'll Take the High Road_) (I think it's neat those guys partnered with each other, and then they trained each other's children later on…)

.

To which Sakumo's eyes rounded as he stared on in silent shock through his veil.

To which she frowned bitterly: "Who?" –Kano Hoseki after Dalzen asks her where Coushander is. (Chapter 4, _Ye'll Take the High Road_) (I include this just because I think this started it all. Once Dalzen had to respond to her manner, _Coushander_ as a novel, had to be written. As in, point of no return, funny/dramatic-type moment…Past chapter 5, there was no going back.)

.

"Yeah—Miss Misao gives me a penny for everything she tells me to write down."

"Really?"

"Yeah!…Do you want to come?" –Jiraiya's earliest beginnings with the written word to fifteen year old Sakumo. (Chapter 6, _First Impressions_)

.

Coushander secured the cloth across the bridge of his nose.

"You know…We have three hours to walk," Saru took the liberty to inform.

"I _know_…" –Saru with Coushander, teeheehee. (Chapter 10, taking _The King's Shilling_)

.

"Next to people, I like trees the best." –Saru-Shin (channeling my grandfather, Papa) (Chapter 10, taking _The King's Shilling_)

.

"…Hey…" thought Kousa. "I've got one, Saru—'Grandfather's Clock'!"

"Oh Kousa—It's all been busted."

"No it's not…! Now how'd that one start…?"

The ravine was far behind them now. –Coushander and Saru-Shin (Chapter 10, taking _The King's Shilling_) (Kind of memorable, since I could hear their voices.)

.

"Hey, this isn't going to end like Ching Ling Soo, is it?" –Coushander to Saru on learning how to catch and reflect blades. (Chapter 10, _The King's Shilling_)

.

"Oh great Shingatte! You know very well they're bad luck charms."

"Well that's a coincidence, my dear boat is scorned on the highs seas, and even the_ low_ seas, and_ everywhere_ in between," he smiled faintly. "I cannot go wrong_._"

"Famous last words!" –Cornelius and Shingatte (Chapter 10, _The King's Shilling_)

.

"…The _Jeddah's_ store." He pronounced.

"…The _Jeddah_, Shingatte?" inquired Cornelius. "I give you the Dutchman's mast, and now you want their _cargo?"_ –Shingatte and Cornelius (channeling Conrad, of course) (Chapter 10, _The King's Shilling_)

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"So foul a sky…clears not without a storm."

"…I guess," –Saru (channeling Shakespeare) with Coushander (Chapter 11, _Journey to the East_)

.

"But…" he croaked, "I _can't_…"

"What, you'll peek?" Coushander grinned at him. –Kosaka and Coushander, talking about the note Coushander gave his old friend. Kosaka was to read it after Cou died. (Chapter 12, _It's Just the Night_) (I love Coushander's humor _usque ad finem_.)

.

"Oh _'it_ was _bad,"_ he half-whispered, winking. "Sage 'couldn't speak for two days."

"...Which is a complete _falsehood_…If you only count the _waking_ hours…" Sage added self-deprecatingly. –Jin and Sage, someone had beaten Sage in Shougi. (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_)

.

"…I see no shinobi," a low voice answered the knocks.

"…But is there a certain kind you do not see?" Saru asked. "We are from Konoha," he said. "We need to speak with you." –First meeting Jer with Saru and Dalzen (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_) (sort of tying back in with Coushander and Sarutobi, considering no one answered when Sarutobi had to leave him that note from Nidaime relating to Gosen.)

.

"We were about to. Can I ask what you wanted it for?"

"If I told you that, they'd be one less mystery in the world, and I'd hate with all my being to be the cause of_ that_. No, I think not. Anything else young Saru?"

"Oh, sure, I think Jin misses you."

Jer rolled his eyes. "Thank you for coming…_lunatic_…"

Saru beamed. –Saru with Jer about the Gentian flower cure (alternative therapy) (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_) (I like that because there always needs to be a little remaining mystery/speculation towards stuff…)

.

"I am Kousaku. I'm sponsoring their journey. They're actors—don't they look it? Best ones in the business." –Coushander, being quite bold talking with Okami (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_) (I love how Dalzen is called mister Hangnail…)

.

"I wonder which will be sharper…My blade or yours."

"You haven't drawn your blade."

"Oh yes I have. This is my blade." –Kamenosuke with Coushander, Cou is meeting a Kaguya for practically, the first time. (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_)

.

"…So…we met a turtle…" he recalled.

"Daigoro," Kano supplied.

"Whatever; and he turned out to be with the enemy…and then…an owl shows up…and disappears; I don't know, making him nervous or something…Is there something we should know about this island? I mean, maybe there's some handbook or a field guide to water country's helpful woodland creatures."

"I've heard dolphins are friendly."

"We'll have to tell Saru to enlist some. We should get going in case he changes his mind and comes back. Who knows where that owl went."

"We should thank it."

"Yeah…" –OH COU WAS SO FUNNY! Coushander and Kano Hoseki talking about the craziness in water country. (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_)

.

"Yeah…I'd rather face an Uchiha or Senju than that…turtle man."

"Well careful what you wish for. You did say to expect anything."

"Yeah…but I was thinking more along the lines of running into wild badgers that can talk and tell us the weather or something…" –Typical Coushander with typical (and young) Kano, while roaming the land of mist. (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_) (Foreshadow, irony…_chemistry_. Lol.)

.

"That's encouraging. Weird, but encouraging. Oh—and I was going to suggest to you that we might enlist the help of other friendly woodland creatures water country has to offer. Like…possums; or dolphins. Everybody else seems to have them. I mean if a baby turtle can track us…we're in deep…"

"Now Kousa…" –Coushander with Saru-Shin (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_)

.

"…How the _hell_ did you know _that?"_

"They don't call us summons for nothing…I _am_ a _toad_ fer…" the small toad seemed to take offense. It looked up at Kano. "Can I repeat the message now, or what?"

She smiled apologetically and nodded. "Don't mind him." –Coushander with Saru's toad summon, who was a toad of the ravine, and Kano, with a 'oh don't mind him, he's paranoid about all woodland creatures now…' (Chapter 13, _The Forgotten_)

.

"Saru gets that way sometimes too. He's been in a whole lot longer than me."

"Your brother," Dalzen pronounced, "Is a little annoying." –Coushander and Dalzen (Chapter 14, _And the Rock Cried Out_)

.

"Dalzen, then I am curious to know why you came after us?"

"I had a feeling," he answered seriously. "I've had one since Jeremiah died."

At the first part, Coushander grinned, and then it faded. "…Well," he thought, "Have more feelings, and we'll get Razumo in half the time." From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Keiko smile at his lame joke. –Saru Dalzen and Cou, after learning their true mission is to take out Razumo (Kizuato) (Chapter 14, _And the Rock Cried Out_)

.

"Sorry…But I think that dog is going to get us killed… …And I hate it when he looks at me like that. It's like he_ knows_ something…" –Coushander on Hairo (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_) (I should have made Zosha a secret summon. Boy THAT would have freaked Cou out.)

.

"And sometimes…that actually _meant_ trouble, more often than not. I remember one time he was playing with the scythe—did you ever play with a scythe as a child?"

"…Can't say that I have."

"Proves my point…" –Coushander and Kano about Saru (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"Don't get near them."

"Why, they can out-run me?" –Kano and Coushander, evading the Kamenosuke's turtles. (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"I was thinking…" he pointed back to the coastline, "We could walk back."

Four pairs of eyes suddenly widened—Hairo barked in approval or disapproval.

_Oh God, I'm not sure I can defend that,_ Kousa quickly thought; his eyes darted to Dalzen's face—the Morino was completely taken aback. The look was priceless. And suddenly, the idea became worth defending. –Saru and Coushander…you know…when their ship got overturned by a freak storm, and they had to walk back…mm-hm… (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"Me! _Me_ of little faith! "That's impossible—I mean _he's_ impossible."

"Talk like that is worse than swearing."

"…You've got more patience that I do, Saru, that's for _damn_ sure."

"Well, you know…I have noticed something very peculiar…about _you._"

"Me? What? What did I do?"

"You haven't taken that mask off since we started. Not I think it's been plastered to your face…" Saru made a move as if to pull it down, but Coushander swatted his hand away.

"You know I can't take it off," he said resolutely. He was about to argue his point when Saru interrupted him quietly. "Yes but has the reason changed from me, or has the reason changed to you?"

Kousa was surprised into silence. Saru smiled faintly. "Face it, he punned. "It seems like you wear it rather religiously."

"_Do not_…" –Coushander and Saru talking privately about Dalzen…Saru is channeling Karada, and then Saru wonders about Cou's reasons for the mask... (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

Coushander was speechless. _…Oh dear God,_ he thought after a moment. "…You _have_ to be kidding me…" His throat was dry.

"…_What to we do…?"_

"…Short of…" Coushander lost the train of thought as one of them shifted. "…Staying alive?" Kousa suggested afterwards. –Cou and Takato, after seeing three very large summons. (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"W-Well…It'd help…if we had some kind of…long range jutsu. Like wind or-or something."

"Oh well now, that's incredibly funny. Saru says I'm a wind-type, but I don't know anything."

"Oh…" –Takato with Coushander, on how to defeat the three large summons, and the crazy lady behind them…hahaha… (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"But at least they left us with copious amounts of dirt and pine needles to clean out for the rest of our lives. I think every now and then I'll find dirt spec in my hair to remember the time I fought an Uchiha. God—what a weird…and horrific turn of events…three summons…all the size of…". –Coushander to the troupe, recovering after their battle… (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"Honestly, I'm—I don't know about any of you, but I'm surprised by myself. We could do it."

"It was shit-house luck. On both our sides. It wouldn't happen again. Not for an entire lifetime of chances."

"Well we'll be happy to leave you at the dock—!"

"We're not leaving anybody _anywhere,"_ Saru looked at him severely. "We continue as one, or quit as one; what is the vote?" –Coushander, Dalzen, and Saru (Chapter 15, _A Race Through Dark Places_)

.

"No, No!" He asked Keiko and Takato; "What will my name be?"

"Annoying," Dalzen muttered. –Coushander and Dalzen, on going incognito. _(Chapter 16, Light of the Island)_

.

"Like-wise. Which rat are you?"

"Um…" Coushander thought admixed trepidation and his heart: it was racing an eagle for the sky. "…Rat? I'm…afraid of small rodents," he said. "I don't like where this conversation is going…"

At his side, Haruda snapped his fingers.

The eight men drew their swords.

_Oh God,_ Kousa thought. _Lie,_ and _fight nine people…?_ Reluctantly, he dropped his brown-haired façade, and there was plain, indigo-clad Coushander.

"You're not Monkey."

"No…I'm not…" Coushander believed he'd just made possibly the worst mistake of his life. "…Would you rather I was him?" he continued conversationally. "I can transform into him, too…" –Haruda and Coushander. As I read this over, I remember how real Cou was—I mean, Sakumo or Sarutobi would have been trained how to handle a cover being blown, but Coushander was happily clueless. Wow. (Chapter 16, _Light of the Island_)

.

Keiko withdrew her hands and looked up—people were talking.

Takato, too, stared. –Keiko and Takato (Chapter 16, _Light of the Island_) (Speaking of Cou being innocent, Kano was really fragile. I mean, more than Sakura. It took Kano longer to mature, I think. The Kiri mission helped her do that.)

.

"You need to walk through the pain. Think of it…like the creek, in the ravine; remember?" he asked. Saru smiled. "It's like when we were little—we'd climb up the sides…and sometimes we'd fall. But hey, listen to me now. I'm holding your hand, you don't have to do it by yourself. But I need you…I need you to take my hand in return, or it won't work. I need you to do that for me, Kousa."

They all looked at him—dead to the world.

"He can't hear you," Dalzen said quietly. "It's over."

"Kousa, take my hand." –Saru-Shin, trying to save his little brother… (Chapter 16, _Light of the Island_)

.

"…Watch over them."

She looked at the silent, fragile forms of the two. She looked back and leveled her eyes on the ground. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

"…For what?"

"For…falling to pieces like I did."

She looked ashamed.

He didn't know what to do to make her feel any better. The whole situation they suddenly found themselves in was so incomprehensible…he smiled. "You're doing just fine." –Dalzen! with Kano! (Chapter 16, _Light of the Island_) (This one just makes me smile.)

.

"Well…what you've often called 'shithouse luck' applied there too. I didn't know if it'd work…but, by God, I wasn't going to let him die on me. I'd have tried anything if that'd hadn't have worked—in that case, we'd probably all be sitting with Haruda right now."

"…I believe you…when you say that, now. I believed…in the determination on your face—you'd have done it for any one of us."

"A captain never, ever, deserts his soldiers; a captain will never leave the battlefield before they. It's the rule of comitatus." –Saru-Shin and Dalzen. (Chapter 16, _Light of the Island_)

.

Sure enough he did and Saru started; "Kousa!"

"Hello, ready?"

"…Where's…Dalzen…?"

"He finally decided to hitch-hike it outta here."

"…_Kousa_…"

"Saru…we all agreed it was better this way. Keiko and Takato need a fighting chance back there—Dalzen works best with them, he can do it better than me. You know I'm better off here, with you. It'll work better this way." –Coushander…taking Dalzen's place, going with Saru (Chapter 16, _Light of the Island_)

.

"Pray God he may never see Kiri."

"I_ thought_ we got _over_ this."

"Not the rain…now that you've mentioned it. Or the crazy people," he cleared his throat uneasily. "We could have done without those psychos."

Kano looked at him. "I think by crazy people, I'd include us…"

"No," he said weakly. "They were the madmen. We were only lunatics…There was a difference."

"Right…I'm sorry—I forgot."

"Sometimes…Well; I tried to forget. Look where it got me. I'm sorry I did." –Coushander (the older) with Kano (the older…) (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"…Don't let Jiraiya see me. Or Sakumo…when it gets bad. I don't want him to remember me like that."

"…Sakumo has seen you a great deal. I think he's coming around to you."

"Him especially." –Coushander with Kano Hoseki… I can remember hearing these words myself from a certain someone…and then going to see him anyway. I can't say that I regret it. But I will say that like Sakumo, I saw how much pain a person can truly be in, and I'm glad it did not last long, even though he's gone for good; to Heaven. (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"I just never knew someone who hated ninja so much…could have ever been one." –Insightful Sakumo (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

Sakumo at first did not recognize the tone in his father's voice, as he hadn't heard it in many years—not since his mother had died. It was real and sad and Sakumo felt so sorry, wishing he could pour some strength into the man. –I have felt this way before. (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"You…You talked to Shodai…?"

"Talked…? More like yelled, shouted…and verbally abused…"

"Really…?" –Sakumo with his father on what happened. (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"Never be bitter," he said. "I was that way, for far too long, for all the wrong reasons," he swallowed. "Let yourself cry…and grieve, when you must…Just never, ever, be bitter. Especially if you have around you…people that care for you. Never forget them. Never turn your back on them. They will turn with you…if only you give them that chance…and give them that chance…Let the memories…be your strength," he said. "Not your weakness," Coushander thought. "And, Sakumo…Kano can be there for you…if you let her. She can be a friend; don't be afraid…to ask for help…And Sakumo…do not come to see me any more," he said firmly. "I cannot tell you anything more. Go, now." –Coushander's concluding words to his dear 'Sakumotsu'. (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

Reluctantly, the boy did as he was told—he took in the sight, he did not ever imagine it would end like this. –We never really do. (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"The drugs…work much better."

"Don't want you to become an addict..."

"…There won't be time for me now…to develop an addiction." –Coushander with Kano. (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"Do you remember…When I…first kissed you?"

"What…What…does that have to do with anything…?"

"You…were talking about…how long it had been. And you…I knew at that second, you were going to say my brother's name…And that's why I kissed you."

She stared at him.

With his hazy eyes, he glanced at her.

Kano suddenly wore a wry smile across her face. "Oh…now that's _suave_." –Coushander with Kano Hoseki. In light of all these revelations, Coushander gives one more to her. Heheheh… (Chapter 17, _The Ones I Leave Behind Me_)

.

"…How did you get out?"

It was the first time Haruda had spoken.

Coushander wanted to take advantage of it. He thought. "…Razumo's ghost, came out of the sky…and told me I still had work to do. He passed on to me the legacy of…the…'red eye', and then I…walked out."

Haruda smiled darkly. "I suppose he gave you back your sword, too."

"No…that was given to me by Shodai." –Haruda and Coushander (Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_)

.

"And how did you survive?"

"I kissed the blarney stone—how about you?" –Quizzical Haruda and typical Coushander (Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_) (One of my favorite lines from Cou)

.

. "…Done…" he seemed to say. "It's done," he whispered. "I…" he shut his eyes and felt hot. "I need to go home…" –A very dazed and beaten Coushander to Dalzen and the rest before Cou passes out, knowing the final battle is finally over; that their mission has finally ended…(Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_)

.

"Oh…And that reminds me… We'll have to drop Coushander off at the hospital…and then go…talk to…Shodai," he said grimly. "Or at least one of us…should go to him. It's funny though…I don't think I could sooner talk to God, than meet with him."

"Well…if you won't talk to him…then…I will."

They looked at him in surprise; "You…?"

Takato smiled sheepishly. "Sure." –Dalzen and Takato, on the way home. As explained previously, this scene was one of the first I had in mind while writing the whole Kiri excursion. (Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_)

.

"Well…we only get nervous when we bring things to Shodai."

"Understandable…"

"No," Takato suddenly said. "Every worker…should be able to see their boss."

Dalzen grinned. "Every boss should see their worker…send him in…!"

And freakishly, at that moment, the door opened at the side hall, and Senju Hashirama walked out… -Harou Nekai, Morino Dalzen, and Ichida Takato waiting to see Shodaime. (Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_)

.

"How is he?"

"He's…got an IV to him now."

"Oh…well that makes everything better, now doesn't it?" –Dalzen teasing a person for the first time ever, and here he's gently teasing Kano… (Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_)

.

He lied still; watching that pain beneath his wrist move up and out to consume his stomach and mind. He shut his eyes after a while and longed to let go…when he realized, that was _exactly_ what he needed to do. –Coushander realizing he must leave. (Chapter 18, _The Parting Glass_) (Personally, I will always love this bit.)

.

"Oh fuck off!" he cursed as loud as he could, desperately shaking off an oncoming image. "Leave me be, will you?" he begged. "All of you. I don't have to do a God damn thing anymore, that's it—"

"Why?" she interjected.

"Because I knew…at that moment…" his voice was loud and trembled, and with a fervor; "There was nothing left for me to do for Kiri—for Konoha—or for any God _damn soul!"_ he shouted, _"Does that answer you?"_ –Coushander channeling Conrad with Chinatsu (Chapter 18, The Parting Glass)

.

"Well," the old man said resolutely, "If I once knew an Hatake, and you once knew an Ezekiel; the paradox of time allows us to meet once again. Things of that sort don't happen often. Climb up, son, you're getting stiff." –Ezekiel to Cou (Chapter 19, Walking Down the Jericho Road)

.

"Your father…hates ninja?" –Dalzen (taking a wild guess) (Chapter 20, _Twenty-One Letters_) (That one's quintessential, really, and still makes me giggle.)

.

"I'd appreciate it if you looked up the meaning of 'discreet', Kosaka. I don't want anybody else to know."

"Oh, well…when I say your 'woman', I'll just tell them I mean your 'wheat field'." –Typical Coushander and shrewd Kosaka (Chapter 21, _My Love Will Not Change_)

.

"What—What in the hell do you want from me? Why are you here—did I break building codes or something?" –Coushander to Dalzen, Takato, and Kano Hoseki gathered together on his back porch. The confrontation. (Chapter 23, _Nobody Will Suspect Dalzen's Inquisition_)

.

"Your uncle was a special kind of lunatic—he was a fool." –Harou (on Saru-Shin) (Chapter 28, _Madness Or Despair_)

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"It's just…I had him back," Hina said after a while. "I had him back. Two years: he was mine again. Two good years. No more missions…no more fights or treks across the country—no more. He was so unhappy…I laughed. He was home." –Chinatsu to Kano, after losing Dalzen (Chapter 28, _Madness Or Despair_)

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"It's not courage. It wasn't that."

"Then what was it?"

"I don't know."

Korado gazed upon the path ahead; "Lead dog says that courage, is the fulcrum that moves history. Lead dog is always right about these things. That is what he told me." –Sakumo and the red summon dog, channeling Pakkun, who was channeling Ronaldous Magnus. (Chapter 32, _Shadow-Line of the Great Divide_)

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"Hey are there any other men I should know about…? Perhaps there was another man in water country she's holding out for…? Why are you grinning at me like that. It's a perfectly reasonable question. Who knows, when it comes to women…They're monsters…disguised as angels." –Rion to Takato with Sakumo. (Chapter 32, _Shadow-Line of the Great Divide_)

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"Was…the trip back all right?"

Sakumo nodded, saying nothing.

"Oh…Well…I just thought you might have had some trouble getting past those new winged monkeys we set outside the gates, there…" Hizuren grinned. –Sarutobi Hizuren with young Sakumo (Chapter 32, _Shadow-Line of the Great Divide_)

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"I'm gonna jump. I'm gonna jump, that I am. I've still gotta' jump left in me. I've still got it," –Loveable Rinsano to anybody while they were walking home. (Chapter 33, _It's Just the Dawn_) (I kinda hinted at the end that he and Nora hooked up. I should write fanfics about my fanfic…!)

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"Where is he?"

"In the tree house." –Sakumo and Kano (Chapter 33, _It's Just the Dawn_) (Jiraiya went on to live in a tree house. As I said before, to this day, I always think of him living in a tree house, somewhere in Konoha…)

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"What was it like? In Kusa, in the west."

"In the east, it's rather nice, like that field out there. In the west, it would be wise to have a bottle of quinine with you and the Holy Bible." –Jiraiya and Sakumo, a little older then. (Chapter 33, _It's Just the Dawn_)

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"There, you see ojiisan? His _son_…correct?"

"Yes sir—I am."

"Oh!" Kosaka said, "This is Coushander's son. You remember, don't you?"

Curtis had not—at least not sufficiently enough. "Kosaka…" he croaked, "Never pull this shit again." –Curtis's progeny, Sakumo, Kosaka, and old man Curtis. (Chapter 34, _A Field of Dreams_)

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"The shinobi activities in the west are being reported as follows…"

Coushander usually plugged his ears at this point and began humming, but Sakumo had no such habit. –Recovered Curtis to the area farmers. (Chapter 34, _A Field of Dreams_)

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"Good for you. I envy you. I confess; I've never visited there. Do people live in trees?"

"I do. I have a nice tree house." –Ryouma and Jiraiya (Chapter 36, _The Land, The Sail, and The Pen_)

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"I started in suna. Then I made my way over the border."

"Now you're headed to kumo. You in a race, around the world? Sorry to slow you down."

"If I am, I've already lost. I left the end of December." –The old man Mizuno and traveling young Jiraiya (Chapter 36, _The Land, The Sail, and The Pen_)

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_And so it has. I was meant to go it alone, and you were meant to become one of the greatest medic nin Konohagakure has ever seen. I'm glad, and grateful our paths crossed one last time, even if it wasn't in the way either of us expected, and I hope you've moved on, and that I don't cross your mind as often anymore. Just know this now, I'm exactly where I need to be. And thank you, forever, for helping me get there. Yours, Coushander _–Coushander's last written words to Kano Hoseki. (Chapter 37,_ Fighting the Tides_) (Until like, the early chapter 40s, I was wondering if Cou had written her a letter too. I decided he'd had, even if he sneakily did not tell me about it, and wrote this on a sticky note and inserted it in this chapter. I teared a little when Cou finished, _'Just know this now, I'm exactly where I need to be. And thank you, forever, for helping me get there.'_)

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"Rion! Be _reasonable!"_

"Reason? War has nothing to do with reason, my dear."

"Rion…"

"Sit down—please?" –Kano and Rion, Kano has to say goodbye to yet another man to war. (Chapter 37, _Fighting the Tides_) (I think Keiko and Rion were truly meant to be together. Her loving concern for him is in this conversation: she nearly turns violent. Lol—just kidding…Well, almost…)

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"They know me well out there. They know I don't put up with any of their shit."

"So who exactly will you be fighting—the enemy or the doctors?"

The two both laughed softly. –Rion and Kano. (Chapter 37, _Fighting the Tides_)

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"There's a…problem…with that…"

"What?"

"Well, you see…I sold…all my furniture and things, and cancelled the rent agreement, 'fore…I…left…"

"You little idiot. Are you serious?"

He tried to laugh. "Serious as I get, miss doctor, ma'am. Did I…tell you yet, that I have fallen_ madly_ in love with you…?"

Her cheeks flushed a little in the low light. She stopped for a moment what she was doing and sat on the bed, looking at him, "Yes, you have, stranger."

"Did I not introduce myself…?". –Rion and Kano at the med station. Did all the comic relief come from these two? _Aw..._ (Chapter 37, _Fighting the Tides_) (God, these two nearly remind me of Jean and Lionel from _'As Time Goes By'_…wow.)

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"Well, I grant you," said Sakumo, "It's entirely your decision."

"Yes. It is. And believe me, my instinct is to pack up, close up, and get the hell out of here…but…I barely know you, Shiroi Kiba, and yet, I know you're going to need a medic very badly when you stay for the fight." –Sakumo and Zanura (Chapter 38, _Year of Hell_)

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"Naoya!" Shin exclaimed. "What are you doing out here? You aren't a ninja…!"

"If I am still up on current events, neither is Sakumo. He will be among equals. He has always been a friend to me. Let's go." –Shin and Naoya (Chapter 40, _Severed Dreams_)

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"Must be one of the most _precarious_ God damn searches for a civilian. Though we can hardly call him that…" –Danzou on Sakumo (Chapter 40, _Severed Dreams_)

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"This must be the _worst_ God damn case of a mix-up ever." –Danzou on Sakumo coming back to the ninja world. (Chapter 40, _Severed Dreams_) (I think he could have easily said these things…Again, the author giggles…I had fun writing that.)

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"Can we admit him back, and have him pass the genin test, you know, have him conjure up three little clones and do a transformation jutsu?" –Danzou, talking with Sarutobi, again in reference to Sakumo. (Chapter 40, _Severed Dreams_)

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"And though…despair was prevalent through many days of his years," he seemed to quote, "it was not his concluding opinion, nor his failing…too much good had been born from that suffering." –Jiraiya, actually paraphrasing and quoting Zdzisław Najder's _Joseph Conrad: A Life_ (Chapter 41, _Ride the Blue Wind High And Free_)

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"Record number of new genin for the year."

Sakumo smirked sadly; "Did you count me as one of those?"

"No," Hizuren ginned. "Though Danzou had suggested it…Will you stay long, this time…?"

"Yeah…" –Sarutobi with Sakumo (Chapter 42, _She'll Lead You Down Through Misery_)

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"Will you not say anything else? Are you this quiet today?"

"I am reserved, master."

"So you say. You have spent your _whole_ life near my side. I shall soon begin to suspect you're planning to run away quite soon."

"Never," Susumu looked surprised.

Nohara smiled.

"I will stay," Susumu said quietly. –Undercover Sakumo with undercover Orochimaru (Chapter 44, _Moonlighter_.) (GOD I LOVE DISCREET FORESHADOW! Loved writing this part. Loved loved loved.)

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"I would hope our paths might cross again, Nohara."

Shun shook his head. "Retirement may take me now," he said genuinely.

"That is what you said once before, and, as I do recall, it did not have a good hold on you."

After a slight surprise now, Nohara stared at the masked man and said, "That's because…I wanted it, too badly. The universe does not reward selfishness."

"And neither has it rewarded _selflessness,_ either. You poor soul. Unable to find the happy median."

"It is my lot in life. Perhaps I drew the shorter straw."

"Perhaps." –'Rama', dark tournament director with undercover Sakumo, (Chapter 44, _Moonlighter_.) (GOD I LOVED WRITING THIS PART TOO!)

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"You've been hero for a long time, to the people of Konohagakure."

"I have been _nothing_," Sakumo interrupted heatedly, "but a sorry man, who took a long road of regrets. That is _all_."

"Well said. And sadly true."

"Do not pretend to understand me," he interrupted again, "I may still surprise you."

"Perhaps. That remains yet to be seen." –Kitano and Sakumo (Chapter 45, _Five Flat Rocks_) (Everything I made of Sakumo is in this conversation.)

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Thus.

He gave Kakashi the greatest gift Sakumo had ever known and never took; the chance, to follow his dream; to be the shinobi he could never be.

"Forgive me," were his last words to God and country, and tacitly, to his son. –Sakumo (end of Chapter 45, _Five Flat Rocks_)

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"Oh," the man remarked, "The one you guys try and impress so he comes back around again? _That_ idiot?"

"The very—Oh keep your voice _down!_" Kosaka glared. "If you dare say so much as a _word_, I'll—"

"Yes, yes, you shall shove me in the arm and say, 'Bad little boy, bad. No growing tips for you—shut up before he looks at you—oh! too late!'" –Coushander and Kosaka having a typical conversation. (Chapter 47, _Konohagakure Blues_)

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"My mom...well she's not nervous about the move, it's the move that upsets her. She'd stay in the village even if a tornado came and leveled it all flat and Shukaku used it for a dance floor. She's lived here all her life." –Jiraiya to Tsunade (Chapter 47, _Konohagakure Blues_)

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Jiraiya was holding a bag of unexpressed emotions. He wished it were a bag filled with money, since that way, he could reach for a dollar or two with every rise of anger or grief. He was holding it now, pulling out nothing but angry tears in the back of his eyes while looking at that grey stone. (Chapter 48, _Hatake Jiraiya's Prayer_) (Something I wish too.)

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After all, love was all he had between hello and goodbye. (Chapter 48, _Hatake Jiraiya's Prayer_)

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"I swear to God—" he burst quickly, "I wasn't touching it." –Coushander, in Kano's memory, fingering her pentagon medal Shodaime gave them all for their mission to Kiri. (Chapter 49, _To the End of Night_)

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The two silver-haired men stood in silence for a moment until Jiraiya said, "You missed a spot," pointing to no where in particular and left him with that. –Jiraiya to Kakashi (Chapter 49, _To the End of Night_)

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And despite my longing to put all of chapter 50 into the quotes hall of fame here and so many others from this crazed novel, I will leave you finally with this:

"How long were you married for, ma'am?" Expecting to hear nothing short of fifty years or so, he was shocked as her tears, her deep dark eyes glistened, "Only five. Five years." –The young auctioneer (Leroy Van Dyke would be so proud) and Kano Hoseki, Keiko, aged 97 for the Lord's sake. (Chapter 50, _Off the Eastern Wall_)

People remember you at auctions. Especially recurring old ladies, and especially recurring old men.

Granted it was Kano Hoseki dear boy, but still, don't go giving the items away. We have a job to do…

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-Kariko Emma _(Caliko)_


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